


The Ones Who Made Us

by Dreth



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: Action/Adventure (in later chapters), Adolescence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coming of Age, Drama, Drow, F/M, Found Family, Gen, Kid Fic (for the first few chapters), Romance, Slice of Life, Vignettes, Wholesome, culture clash, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 48,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22408042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreth/pseuds/Dreth
Summary: In which Drizzt Do’Urden is abandoned on the surface as a child and must adjust to life among humans as he grows older.
Relationships: Catti-brie/Drizzt Do'Urden
Comments: 41
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

The light was blinding. 

For most of the first day that the secondboy of house Do’Urden spent trapped on the surface world, he hid under a large, green plant, pressing his face into the ground to hide his eyes from the scorching sun. 

Dinin had left him. He had been gone when Drizzt had awoken. Drizzt had looked for him, panicked, for less than a minute before realizing what had happened. It didn’t even occur to him that it could have been an accident. Of course it wasn’t. He had been meant to stay there on the surface, alone. He’d been meant to die there. Vierna had once told him not to trust Dinin. He had not understood why, at the time. Now, he still didn’t. Why would Dinin want to kill him? 

The realization filled him with a greater dread than he’d ever known. It was one thing to die. It was another thing to die alone in the hell that was the surface world. He knew nothing of this place. He had never felt so helpless. 

When the light began to fade, he cautiously looked out at the landscape beyond his plant. His eyes wandered upward, toward the great dome of blue that lay above him. When he looked up at the sky, at the wide open air, his head spun. It was too big. Too much. He kept his eyes carefully on the ground, because when he didn’t, he felt as if he would get lost in that emptiness. 

He was relieved when the darkness of night came, but with it came the cold. Shivering, he got up and started walking, not knowing where he was going but knowing that he must go nonetheless. He refused to die. He was going to survive. Somehow. 

The surface was dizzyingly large and empty, and too busy at the same time. The ground was covered in plants that scraped and poked at him, crunching under his feet and occasionally catching on his clothes. Strong winds blew on him, changing direction every so often as if out of boredom. Occasionally he heard the call of an animal, and would freeze in place until he was sure the source wasn’t too close to him. If the animals of the surface were anything like those of the Underdark, he did not want to run into any of them. 

When he spotted a light in the distance, he hesitated, nervous, then altered his course to move toward it. The source of the light must have been people. People would have food, and maybe something with which to keep warm. He dreaded encountering any people of the surface, whom everyone knew to be largely evil and dangerous, but he saw no better options. 

When he got closer, he saw that the source of the light was a small campfire. Four humans sat around it, talking and eating. A man and a woman, and two children who looked close to Drizzt’s age. They had packs with them, and two large animals with saddles strapped on their backs, so he guessed they were only traveling through the area and did not live there. 

He watched them from a safe distance away, under the cover of a tall plant--out of necessity, because he intended to wait there until they went to sleep to rob them of whatever food and clothes he could get his hands on--but also out of curiosity. He had seen human slaves only once or twice in Menzoberranzan, but even that had been from a distance. They had skin and hair that was oddly washed-out and dirty looking, but they smiled and laughed a lot. It made him wonder what they were talking about. 

Eventually, the humans stretched out on blankets, and appeared to sleep. Drizzt waited a long time--what seemed like a long time to him, at least--to be sure they were really asleep, then crept toward them. He paused when he came to the edge of the camp, just on the periphery of the firelight. He heard a snore. 

The animals wearing saddles were still standing nearby, awake. He eyed them suspiciously. They were alarmingly large, but they did not seem bothered by his presence. 

Very quietly, he began rifling through one of the packs. One of the animals raised its head, and snorted loudly. Drizzt froze, hands still in the pack, and watched the animal apprehensively. It stared at him for a few seconds before looking away again. 

But then, there was another sound from behind him. Drizzt turned, heart racing, and found the human man staring back at him. He’d been roused by the animal’s sound, and was looking directly at Drizzt. The man’s eyes grew wide. 

Drizzt quickly took his hands out of the bag, biting his lip. He had a knife in his boot--his only weapon. He was not confident it would be much use against two fully grown humans, even if they had no weapons of their own. He quickly crossed his arms over his chest--a peaceful, submissive gesture. 

The man, to his surprise, did not attack. Still watching Drizzt with wide eyes, he picked up one of the children with one arm, and shook the woman awake with the other. 

Drizzt watched them all wake, his arms still crossed. He was too afraid to move. All of them looked at him with expressions of disbelief and fear. They spoke in hurried whispers, watching him and also searching the trees around them for something hidden in the darkness, as if there might have been an army lying in wait behind him. They stepped around him and mounted their animals, then rode away in a hurry, not even taking the time to gather their things before they left. 

Drizzt dropped his arms, staring after them in bewilderment. He almost laughed, despite himself. How ridiculous, for them to be so afraid of someone so small. He felt a little pride in the knowledge that humans apparently had so much respect for the drow. 

When it was clear that they were not coming back, he returned to the pack. He ate some of the food they’d left. It tasted strange and made him feel vaguely ill, but at least he wouldn’t be hungry for a while. He wrapped one of their thin blankets over his shoulders and kept walking. He did not want to still be there if they decided to return. 

The next humans he encountered were not so easily scared off. 

They came upon him as he slept the next day. He awoke to the sound of someone speaking in a clunky foreign tongue. When he opened his eyes, the sun was shining too bright for him to see, and he flinched. He was surrounded by three large shapes. Someone reached down and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulling him to his feet. 

Panicking, he shouted and thrashed against the hands holding him. He fought even after the first hard slap--more out of principle than hope of escape. But after the second, the world went black for a moment, and when it returned, he felt dizzy and sick and his face hurt, and he couldn’t bring himself to continue. 

The three men brought him back to a wagon and threw him in the back of it among a stack of crates, communicating to him mainly via shoves. But after he was sitting in the wagon and they were moving again, they mostly ignored him. Drizzt stayed still and quiet as they talked amongst themselves, and tried not to draw their attention again. Whatever they were planning, at least they had not killed him yet. 

After a day of travel, Drizzt saw the walls of some giant structure in the distance. They were coming to a city. A little thrill of fear and excitement went through him. He had never seen a surface city before, or even had one described to him. It looked enormous. 

They made him climb into a hidden compartment in the wagon floor before they approached the city gates. It was quiet for a while except for the sound of the wheels grinding over rocks, and then they stopped, and he could hear someone climbing into the back of the wagon. There were voices, very close. Then the voices moved away. The wagon started moving. 

Once inside the city, the humans pulled him out of the wagon and into the street. It was mercifully dark out. One of the humans, a yellow-haired man with a round face, put a too-large hood over Drizzt’s head. He made it clear--while waving a knife in his face--that he was not to take it off. The man said something that sounded like a question, and Drizzt nodded, keeping his gaze on the ground. 

The low hood prevented him from seeing much of the city other than the street, but he could still hear just fine, and the sounds of the city alone were enough to shock him. It was loud--louder than he could have imagined. He couldn’t believe the way that everyone yelled and laughed, not caring that everyone else could hear what they were saying. He couldn’t understand how any of them could stand the noise. 

Once, in the midst of all the foreign jabbering, he suddenly heard a voice, softly but very clearly, say something in the drow language. He looked up, shocked, and desperate to find whoever had said it. A rough hand shoved at the back of his head to point his gaze downward again, and the human holding him growled something that sounded dangerous. Drizzt swallowed hard, and didn’t look up again. 

Water was dripping from the sky that day. Drizzt didn’t like it. By the time the human had dragged him across the city, he was soaking wet and shivering, as if he’d jumped in a river, and it didn’t seem fair that he should have no choice but to be bombarded by the wet and the cold just for walking under the sky. None of the humans seemed to notice it, as if it were perfectly normal to have water pouring on you wherever you went. The surface was a very uncivilized place in some regards. 

The human took him down a set of stairs that led to a door at the base of a building. They walked through a maze of dark, musty hallways, occasionally passing rooms that were filled with strange-smelling vapor and stranger-looking people. At the end of a hall, the human stopped to talk to another man, and finally removed the hood. The new man looked down at Drizzt, and raised his eyebrows. Drizzt quickly lowered his gaze to the floor. 

The men spoke for a few minutes. Then the new man handed the other one something, and took Drizzt’s arm. 

As he was handed off, Drizzt turned to watch the yellow-haired man leave. The man walked back down the hallway and turned the corner, without ever looking back. Drizzt felt a strange sense of hurt and loss. He had by no means liked the man, but the humans who had brought him here were the only people he’d known during his time on the surface. The only constants in an unfamiliar world. Drizzt had been nothing to him. Less than nothing. Even being disliked seemed preferable to complete indifference. 

The new man pulled him down another hall and thrust him into a dark room, then shut the door behind him. In the room with him were a lot of other skinny humans, and, to his surprise, a few surface elves. Drizzt quickly found a wall to put his back against. He looked down, and tried not to draw attention to himself. The people there looked different from other people in the city, though he couldn’t put his finger on why. All of them stared at him. None of them spoke. 

They waited there for a long time. 

Then, the man who’d brought him into the room reappeared. He pulled a woman into the hallway, and closed the door behind them. A few minutes later, he came back without the woman, and took someone else away. It happened again and again until half the room was gone. Each time someone went, Drizzt grew more nervous. 

Finally, the man came for him. 

As the man took his arm, Drizzt looked around the room, searching the faces around him for help. They all watched him, and gave no more reaction than they had for the last ten people who had gone. 

The man pulled, more forcefully after Drizzt’s hesitance. He dragged him down the hall and into the next room, and suddenly he was surrounded by tall humans, all looking at him. Instinctively he tried to back away from them, and someone put a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place. He stood very still, except that he was trembling slightly. 

The room was quiet, and all the eyes on him were wide with interest. Then the room erupted with noise as everyone started talking at once--some laughing, some sounding almost angry. Drizzt could smell that odd vapor again, somewhere nearby. He spotted a small group of men and women in the back of the room, sitting around a table with a large pipe atop it. One of them seemed asleep in his chair. The rest had paused what they were doing to see what the fuss was about. 

He resigned himself to staring at the floor, and tried to shut out the chaos that was all around him. Whatever was about to happen would happen, and there was little he could do about it but hold back tears. 

The room quieted again, and the man behind him started talking. There was a lot of back and forth between himself and the people in the crowd. Drizzt was quickly growing tired of all the babbling. He wished someone would say something intelligible. The human language was ugly and made them all sound foolish and brutish, like orcs or goblins. He wondered if they realized how bad it sounded. 

He looked up when one of the people from the table in the back appeared suddenly at the front of the crowd. He was even taller than other humans tended to be, had pale brown skin and long, dark hair tied behind his head, and wore a very displeased expression. He looked down at Drizzt, who tensed, uncomfortable with the direct attention. Then he looked up at the man behind Drizzt. They said some things. Then they argued, loudly. Drizzt winced as the man holding him grew angrier, and fingers dug into his shoulder. 

Finally the two men seemed to come to an agreement, though not happily. The tall man dug into a pocket and threw a small sack of something at the man holding him before taking Drizzt by the arm and pulling him from the room. He had been passed off again. 

Before they went outside, the new man unfastened the cloak from his shoulders and dropped it over Drizzt, then pulled the hood up over his head. Drizzt understood the rules by then. He was not to be seen. 

The man held onto his arm, rather tightly, as if he was afraid of Drizzt running off--which he did consider. He might have been able to get away, with only one person to pursue him now--if only the man hadn’t been holding on so tightly. 

It was very dark outside, by then. The humans carried fires on sticks or in little glass cases so they could still see where they were going. Humans had famously poor vision. 

The water was still dripping down from above. The cloak, Drizzt noticed, was made of some material that the water slid off of instead of soaking through. He was still freezing and damp from earlier, but at least he wasn’t getting soaked again. 

Drizzt chanced a glance up at the man as they walked through the city. His new jailor. It was hard to tell much about someone, just from looking at them. The man seemed to notice Drizzt’s gaze, and looked down at him with a sort of irritated, harried expression. Drizzt quickly looked down at the ground. He had been able to hold back before, but now he did start to cry. He missed his house in Menzoberranzan. He wished Vierna was there with him, even though she would have slapped him for crying. He would have given anything to have a familiar face nearby. 

He was alone in this strange, terrible place that was so cold and had water leaking everywhere, and had too much light during the day and still too much at night because of the humans’ bad eyesight, and he hadn’t eaten anything or slept since some time far too long ago, and there was no one around who could understand him or want to help him--only these humans who treated him like cattle, like something that didn’t think or feel. 

As far as he could tell, this man had just purchased him at a slave auction. Drizzt didn’t know much about humans, or how their slaves fared. Maybe if he was obedient and worked hard, he’d be treated well. He had little other choice. He had nowhere else to go. 

But perhaps, even then, he would be better off on his own. There were only a few reasons he could think of for someone to want a child slave instead of a grown one, and none of them were good. 

When the man turned to look down an alley, and his grip loosened ever so slightly, Drizzt abruptly jerked his arm, trying to pull away. He almost made it--the man lost his grip on Drizzt’s upper arm, only to grab his wrist instead. Drizzt twisted wildly, and the man only held tighter. 

“Let go of me!” Drizzt cried in desperation and misery, choking back sobs. It was probably the only escape attempt he would be able to make, and he had failed. 

The man grabbed both his arms to hold him still, and bent to look him square in the face. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped, glancing around the half-empty streets. Then he said something in a harsh whisper, as if afraid of being overheard. Drizzt stared at him, not understanding. 

The man turned and walked on, a little faster now, pulling him along behind. Drizzt didn’t try to run again. 

After two more streets, they climbed a set of stairs set along the back of a building and went through a door. The man pushed Drizzt inside first, then followed, closing the door behind him. Drizzt heard a click as the door locked. The room around them was small, dark, and empty, with just a small table in the middle and a bed and cabinet in the corner. 

The man paused there, and sighed. He muttered something to himself before walking slowly across the room. Drizzt hovered by the door. He quickly tried the door handle while the man’s back was turned. It didn’t budge. 

On his way across the room, the man inadvertently kicked the leg of the table in the middle of the room. He let out a pained gasp and a series of what must have been curses before continuing. 

It was too dark in the room for the man to see properly, Drizzt realized. 

His heart thudded in his chest. He reached into his boot and pulled out the knife that was hidden there. The man rummaged for something in the dark, his back to Drizzt. Drizzt edged closer, holding the knife in front of him. He hesitated. He was terrified. He had never killed someone before. Never even hurt someone. And he didn’t want to. He felt nauseous. 

Then there was a light. Drizzt flinched at the sudden brightness. One of those little glass cases with a candle inside sat at the man’s feet, casting a dim light over the whole room. The man turned to look at him, and stopped, watching the knife in his hand. Drizzt froze, horrified. What a fool he was. He should have taken his chance. The human would probably kill him, or if not, would inflict such torture upon him that he would wish he was dead. 

But then the man laughed. 

“Gods, where did you get that? Have you had it this whole time?” 

Drizzt was so stunned that he nearly dropped the knife. The man was speaking the drow tongue. 

“How do you know my language?” Drizzt sputtered, shocked. 

The man leaned against the wall, giving him an appraising look. “I have had dealings with some of your kin, in the past,” he said. He did not look angry anymore--only tired and sad. “I’m not going to hurt you, boy. Don’t look so afraid.” 

Drizzt squeezed the grip of the knife. He was shaking slightly, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from nerves. “Why did you bring me here?” he demanded. 

“To keep you away from the bastard who was trying to sell you to those other bastards. You’re welcome.” 

Drizzt frowned at him, not understanding. “Why?” 

“Because something bad would have happened to you otherwise.” He looked Drizzt up and down. He went to the bed and pulled the blanket off of it, then brought it back and held it out to Drizzt. Drizzt cautiously reached out, but the man pulled it back out of reach before he could touch it. 

“I’ll trade you,” the man said. “For the knife.” He held out an open hand, waiting. 

Drizzt hesitated. He looked up at the man, trying to guess what he was thinking. 

Slowly, he turned the knife around and dropped the hilt into the man’s hand, then stepped back, waiting to see what he would do. The man gave an approving nod, and tucked the knife into his belt as he handed Drizzt the blanket again. Drizzt took it quickly, afraid he might pull it away again. He pulled off his cloak before wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. He looked around the room for a place to sit down. He was not sure if he was allowed to sit on the bed, so he simply sat on the floor where he was, and pulled the blanket tighter around him. He already felt warmer. 

The man looked down at him for a long time. “Why—“ he began, then shook his head. “How did you get here?” 

“Some humans took me,” Drizzt said, waving vaguely at the door to indicate the wilderness far beyond. “Outside. They brought me to this city.” 

“And before that? How did you get to the surface? Where is your family?” 

He sniffed, and wiped his face with the back of his hand. He watched the man, suspicious but cautiously hopeful. It didn’t occur to him to lie. “My brother brought me,” he said quietly. “A raiding party was going to the surface. He said I could come, to see what it was like. When we reached the surface, we all took a rest, and...when I woke up, he was gone, and it was so bright I could hardly see and…” He looked down, self-conscious. 

“Someone must be missing you,” the man said. “Your mother?” 

He frowned as he considered that. It was a strange thing to suggest. He hardly ever saw his mother. He imagined she’d scarcely notice he was gone. Vierna, on the other hand--she would notice. Would she be sad when she realized what had happened? Would she look for him?

“Somebody will come looking for you, surely?” the man said. “To take you back home?” 

Drizzt thought again, then slowly shook his head. Dinin had meant for him to die, or at least to be permanently gone. Perhaps he’d meant it as a mercy, bringing him here instead of just putting a sword through him. Or perhaps he’d merely thought it funny. Either way, he would kill him if he found a way back to Menzoberranzan. As for the rest of them--his presence would hardly be missed, would it? He was only a secondboy, and one that none in his family seemed to approve of, at that. He had often felt that they’d rather he was not around. And even if Vierna did miss him, she certainly wouldn’t come all the way to the surface to find him. 

The man sighed, and ran a hand over his hair in an exhausted sort of gesture. Drizzt shifted nervously, feeling the man’s patience thinning. He did not want to be thrown out into the world again, alone. At least this man spoke his language. By the goddess it was a relief to hear his own language again. 

“...can you help me?” Drizzt asked in a very small voice, his heart twisting a little in humiliation at having to beg a human for aid. 

The man bent to crouch in front of him, meeting him at eye level. “I can’t very well leave you to fend for yourself, can I?” 

Drizzt hesitated, then shook his head in agreement. 

“It’s...alright,” the man said, unsure of himself. “We’ll figure something out. Maybe...maybe we can find a nice family of elves to take you in.” 

“Surface elves?” Drizzt said, eyes widening in horror. “You can’t give me to them, they’ll kill me!” 

The man laughed again, but he looked sad. “Have you got a name, boy? You _are_ a boy, aren’t you?” 

“Of course,” he said, hardly believing anyone could mistake him for a female. As if a female would ever have been abandoned on the surface. He drew himself up a little straighter. “I am Drizzt, secondboy of house Do’Urden.” 

“Not of any house anymore, I don’t think,” he said. “You can call me Torrah.” 

Drizzt drew the blanket up over his head, pressing it against his cold cheeks. The man smiled at him. 

“I suppose you would like something to eat,” he said. “Did they feed you?” 

Drizzt shook his head, then nodded. 

“Are you going to run off if I leave you here alone for a few minutes while I get something?” 

He rapidly shook his head. 

The man studied him for a few moments, like he didn’t believe him. “Alright,” he said eventually. “Wait here.” 

As he left, Drizzt heard a key turn in the lock. The man didn’t trust him to stay. He frowned at the door. He hadn’t been planning on running, anyway, so it didn’t make a difference, but being locked in felt insulting. Normally it would have irritated him. But at the moment, he was so overwhelmed with relief that he didn’t care. 

He realized, suddenly, how tired he was. He rested his head on the floor, pulling his feet up under the blanket. He was asleep before the man returned. 


	2. Chapter 2

When they left the next morning, it was early enough that most of the city had not yet awoken. The light that filtered through the clouds was blue-grey and bright, though not as dazzlingly bright as it would be when the sun rose higher in the sky. 

The streets were mostly empty, for which Drizzt was grateful. He felt better when they were out on the empty road beyond the city, away from the pressing mass of humans he’d seen the previous day. Torrah instructed him to keep the hood up over his head anyway, even when he could see no one else around, and Drizzt didn’t argue with his judgement. 

They were going to Torrah’s home, he said. The room that they had been in before, Drizzt learned, was only the room he had been renting while visiting the city on business. 

The dripping of water from the sky had stopped, and now the sun beamed down on them as they walked. It was almost an improvement over the wet, but as the day went on, the light grew so bright that Drizzt had to stare at the ground to keep his eyes from tearing up. He was grateful for the hood. 

“What are we going to do with you?” Torrah said, almost to himself. Drizzt wasn’t sure if he was supposed to offer an answer. 

“You said you knew some of my kin,” Drizzt said tentatively. 

“That I do,” Torrah said. He looked down at him. “Have you heard of Bregan D’aerthe, Drizzt?” 

“No.” 

“Other lost drow,” Torrah explained shortly. “Some of them even live here on the surface, like you.” 

Drizzt brightened, hopeful, and Torrah made a face. 

“But those aren’t the sorts of people one would want taking care of a child,” he said. “Not that they would be inclined to, anyway.” 

Drizzt slumped a little. 

“Do you...do anything?” Torrah said, looking down at him curiously. “Cook? Cast spells?” 

He knew only the spells he’d been born with. “Not really.” 

“Cleaning, then?” 

He thought of the many hours he’d spent cleaning the chapel and other common areas around the house, with Vierna occasionally dropping by and snapping at him to hurry up. He sighed. “I suppose. Do you not have slaves to do those things for you?” 

Torrah made an irritated sound. “No. People here do not have slaves. Slavery is illegal.” 

Drizzt looked up at him. “Then what was—” 

“That was not a usual circumstance,” Torrah interjected before he could finish the question. “You had the misfortune of meeting some bad people when you got here. Most people are not like that. What happened to you was a very unlikely bad turn of luck.” 

“Those people in that place were bad people?” he asked. 

“Yes.” 

“Then...what were _you_ doing there?” 

“Working. I sell things there.” 

“Sell what? Slaves?” 

“No, not slaves, Drizzt. Gods above…” 

“Then what?” 

Torrah looked down at him, smirking. “You ask a lot of questions. You don’t need to know everything.” 

Drizzt stiffened, suddenly remembering himself. He looked at the ground, quiet. 

“Have you ever taken care of plants?” Torrah asked after a moment. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Well. You can learn, can’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.”

Torrah’s town, Crosswell, was a long day’s walk from the city, on a broad patch of fields surrounded by gentle, mostly treeless hills. 

After spending enough time looking at the world above, Drizzt had decided that it was actually sort of pretty--especially while the sun was near the horizon. The light as the sun was setting was an astoundingly bright magenta-gold, a color he’d never seen in nature before. It was as if a priestess had set the entire sky on fire, and he almost expected to be burned by it. He was a little surprised that it caused no pain unless you looked directly at it. 

He didn’t get to see much of the town, when they first arrived. Torrah rested a hand on Drizzt’s shoulder as they approached the guard tower on the south end of town. Someone inside the tower called down to him, and he called back. Drizzt looked carefully down, away from the light of the torches on either side of the tower. There was a short exchange between Torrah and the guard, and then they moved on through the gate. 

Drizzt let out a soft breath as they passed. No one had ever explicitly said it, but Drizzt understood by then that he was not supposed to be there. Other surface dwellers were not friendly, like Torrah. They would chase him out, or maybe even kill him, if they knew what he was. 

Torrah lived on the edge of town, not far beyond the guard tower. Inside, the house didn’t look much different than the room they’d been in the night before. It was small, simple, and largely empty, except for a notable collection of metal and glass instruments in the back room, which resembled alchemy equipment Drizzt had seen in Menzoberranzan. 

Torrah also had a sword, hanging on the wall like a decoration instead of on a rack. Drizzt pointed it out, interested. He’d never been allowed to hold a sword.

“I’ve got no idea how to use the thing,” Torrah said dismissively. “Leave it alone--I don’t want you cutting yourself. Or me.” 

The most unusual part of it all was the garden behind the house. It was surrounded by high stone walls--an extravagant contrast to the otherwise modest property. To keep out the riff-raff, Torrah said. Inside the garden were rows and rows of only one kind of plant--a bush with tiny bright green leaves and even tinier black berries that hung in clusters. 

“Don’t touch the plants. Don’t eat the berries,” Torrah said, very seriously, and looked down at Drizzt sternly until he nodded his compliance. 

Drizzt spent a few minutes exploring the house, then returned to the main room and found Torrah sitting at the table beside the hearth, staring at nothing in particular. He didn’t look up when Drizzt came in. 

“What are you doing?” Drizzt asked after a moment. He didn’t know what would come next, now that they were there. 

Torrah glanced down at him. “Thinking,” he replied. He took a breath. “We can’t hide you in this house forever.” 

Drizzt wrung his hands. He didn’t know where he would go, without Torrah. Probably he would end up in the same position as when he’d found him. 

But then, Torrah clarified. “The rest of the town needs to know you’re here,” he said, and Drizzt’s eyebrows rose in alarm. “Otherwise they’ll find out some other way, and they’ll be angrier about it than if I had told them beforehand.” 

“They don’t want me here,” Drizzt protested, his voice quiet and strained. 

Torrah had no reassuring words to offer. He didn’t say so, but Drizzt knew he thought the same. 

“Stay in the other room until I tell you to come out,” Torrah said, getting up. “I will be back soon.” 

“Where are you going?” Drizzt took a nervous step closer, afraid of being separated from him. 

“To arrange some things. No one is going to hurt you, I promise.” 

Drizzt hesitated, fidgeting. 

Torrah crossed his arms. “Go on and wait in the back room. Don’t be scared.” 

“I’m not scared,” Drizzt said quickly. 

“Good. Go.”

Drizzt obediently went into the room with the alchemical equipment, giving Torrah another nervous look before closing the door behind him. He heard the front door open and close. 

The human was gone a very long time. When Drizzt got tired of examining the strange appliances in the room, he quickly grew bored. There was nothing else in the room, and no windows to look out of. 

He pushed open the door to the main room, very quietly, and peered outside to make sure no one was there before going out. 

His gaze wandered to the sword on the wall. He hesitated, then went to it. He would put it right back, before Torrah returned. He would never even know he’d touched it. No harm done. 

He had to move a chair over to stand on in order to reach it. A smile touched his lips as he gripped the hilt. The blade scraped against the wall as he pulled it free. He climbed carefully down from the chair, and examined the sword. It looked in disrepair, truthfully. He touched a finger to the edge of the blade, very gingerly at first and then a little harder. He snorted. 

“Not even sharp,” he muttered. Still, it felt good in his hands, heavy and solid. Much better than his little knife. With this, he felt like he could kill a dragon. 

With no small amount of effort, he picked it up and held it out in front of him. It was so heavy that his arms wobbled with the effort of holding it up. He gave it a swing, and that was easier than just holding it still, so he did it again. There was a soft _whoosh_ as it cut through the air. He grinned. 

He thought of Dinin. They’d encountered a group of svirfneblin in the wilds on their way up to the surface. It had not been a long fight--not while Dinin was there. Drizzt remembered the way his brother’s sword had cut through body after body, never missing a strike, never a movement out of place. He was a force of nature. No one could stop him.

He swung the sword back and forth, imagining himself in Dinin’s place. Each swing was easier than the last as he grew accustomed to the weight of it. His enthusiasm grew with each movement. He was pretty good at this, wasn’t he? Probably he would be a great swordsman someday. 

He gave a great roar and lifted the sword high over his head, as if to bring it down on some invisible beast beside the table. 

The front door opened. 

He froze. Before he could move, two humans he didn’t know had entered the house, with Torrah following them. They all stopped, staring at him. The sword wobbled above Drizzt’s head. His jaw still hung open in mid-warcry, silent. 

Torrah glared at him. “Put the sword down.” 

“I just wanted to look at it,” Drizzt said quietly. 

“Look with your eyes, not your hands,” Torrah said through his teeth. 

He tried to lower it, then lost his grip, and it fell to the floor with an extraordinarily loud clanging. Torrah grimaced. 

Drizzt shied away as Torrah crossed the room to pick up the sword and place it back on the wall. One of the other humans said something. Torrah said something back. 

Drizzt looked up at the humans, carefully examining them as they examined him. It was a man and a woman. The woman was looking at him with bare confusion and apprehension. The man had fixed him with a hard, disapproving glare. Drizzt straightened, and glared back. 

Torrah glanced down at Drizzt, and sighed. “What are you making that face for?” 

Drizzt shuffled his feet, glancing defensively at the humans across the room. “They were making it at me, first.” 

“So? Can’t you just look cute and defenseless like you did the other day?” 

“I’m not defenseless!” 

Torrah pinched the bridge of his nose. Now the other man was glaring at Torrah instead of Drizzt. The woman raised an eyebrow at him. 

The humans all talked for a long time. Hours, it felt like. Drizzt eventually sat down at the table, resting his head on his arms as he watched them. He wondered if Torrah would slap him the way Vierna did when he’d done something wrong. He tried to look remorseful. 

Finally, the man and woman got up to leave. They both gave Drizzt another long look, neither of which he could read, before leaving. Torrah shut the door behind them, then turned to Drizzt. He tentatively raised his head from the table. 

“You certainly didn’t make this easier for me,” Torrah said, giving him a tired look. 

Drizzt looked down at the table. 

“But,” Torrah said, “using my superior wit and charm, I’ve managed to convince them to sympathize with your plight.” 

Drizzt looked at him, waiting for further explanation. 

“Meaning that you’re staying here and no one is allowed to try and make you leave, because the heads of the council are on my side, for once.” 

“Staying here?” Drizzt said. “With you?” 

“Unless there is someplace else you’d like to go.” 

“For how long?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Drizzt considered this. 

“Is that arrangement agreeable to you?” Torrah asked, raising an eyebrow. 

He thought it over for a moment, then nodded. Torrah smiled, like he’d done something funny. 

Drizzt watched Torrah gather a collection of blankets into a pile in the corner of the room, and realized that he was making a bed. He frowned a little. This particular act--making him a bed--was, for some reason, the thing that tipped the situation into the realm of the ridiculous. No one would do this out of mere generosity, with nothing to gain from it. It didn’t make sense. 

“Why are you doing all this for me?” he asked, suspicious. 

“Shouldn’t I?” 

“I’m not your child.” 

“Wouldn’t you do the same, if our positions were reversed?” 

He tried to imagine that, and couldn’t. “I don’t know.” 

Torrah paused to look at him, and Drizzt thought that there was something in his expression that mirrored Drizzt’s own suspicion, just a little. “If someone needs your help, shouldn’t you try to help them?” 

Drizzt knew he was supposed to answer ‘yes’ to the leading question. “If I like them, maybe,” he said instead, growing a little defensive at Torrah’s tone. “Don’t you have your own family?” 

Torrah stared at him. “No,” he said. He paused, then continued, “I had a daughter. She was about your age.” Having finished making the bed, he got up and blew out the lantern that had been lighting the room. His expression had gone very cool. 

Drizzt got the impression he’d done something wrong, but wasn’t sure what it was. A little niggling guilt grew in the back of his mind. He realized that he wanted Torrah to like him, even if he didn’t fully understand his motives. He liked how the man talked to him--softly, not impatient, not bothered by his questions. Like he was an adult, almost. Like he was a friend. He didn’t want Torrah to be angry with him like Vierna always was. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

Torrah smiled, to Drizzt’s relief. He wasn’t so angry after all. 

“Go to sleep,” Torrah said shortly, and went into the next room, closing the door behind him. 

———

“We’ll find a more permanent place for you soon,” Torrah kept saying. ‘Soon’, Drizzt had guessed, meant some days or weeks. But then weeks passed. And then months. Eventually Torrah stopped reminding him that he was supposed to leave at some point, as if he’d forgotten about it. 

Drizzt grew to like Torrah, and he dared to think that Torrah like him, as well. Drizzt had never been able to talk so openly with anyone before, and he had never laughed and smiled so often. It was not quite like being home, but it was better in some ways. 

Torrah taught him how to take care of the plants in the garden. He learned how to tell if they needed more water or less, or if they were getting too much sun. They disliked the sun--like Drizzt, Torrah had said, and seemed highly amused by his own joke. Drizzt didn’t laugh. 

The plants were cut, boiled, combined with a few other ingredients, and refined into a slightly viscous liquid that was then heated in pipes. The vapor could be inhaled to produce tranquilizing effects. It was a poison, called nocturne. At first Drizzt assumed that it was meant to be used on one’s enemies. Torrah quickly corrected him--people were using it on themselves, voluntarily. Drizzt was not clear on why people would pay to ingest a poison that dulled their senses and weakened their limbs, but Torrah assured him that they did. He saw Torrah use it on occasion. As far as Drizzt could tell, it just made him fall asleep. 

He didn’t leave the house often, at first. The town was large and loud and intimidating and full of staring faces, not to mention easy to get lost in. Sometimes, when he was in the garden, he levitated himself up to the top of the wall to peek over and watch the people in town. He liked watching them, as long as it was from the safety of his hiding spot. 

On one such occasion, he was watching a group of children in the distance chasing each other around in circles. He’d heard screaming, and worried that the town was under attack. He was surprised and relieved to find that it was only a game. 

As he watched, there came a surprised sound from behind him. He turned, and found Torrah standing in the doorway to the house, gaping up at him. 

Drizzt slowly drifted back down to the ground, afraid he’d done something he wasn’t supposed to. 

But then Torrah laughed. “You didn’t tell me you could do that,” he said. 

“All drow nobles can,” Drizzt said, with a little pride. 

“Yes,” Torrah said. “So I’ve heard.” 

Torrah told him he would lose the magic required for levitation after being away from the Underdark for long enough. So far, though, Drizzt had not noticed any change. 

———

One day, he heard an intruder in the garden, rustling quietly through the leaves of some plants near the wall. Cautiously Drizzt approached the sound, and crouched to see under the bush where the sound had come from. The creature there stopped and stared at him, mid-step. It was a small black cat. It was a pet, he knew. He’d seen their neighbors in the next house down feeding and holding it. 

He tried to keep his excitement in check, and not scare it away. Very slowly, he crept closer. The cat stared at him with very wide, yellow eyes, and didn’t move. 

When he was close enough, he offered it an upturned hand. The cat stared at him for a long moment, then casually approached. It bumped its head against his hand. Drizzt grinned. It was soft. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be here,” he whispered as he rubbed it around the ears. The cat ignored him. 

He hesitated, not sure how to pick it up. Slowly he reached out, and the cat allowed him to take hold of it under its front legs. As he picked it up, its front feet stuck straight out in front of it and its body drooped loose beneath it, like it was made of wet dough. Drizzt gingerly carried it back through the house and out the front door. 

He set it down very gently outside. A big shiver went through it, as if it were shaking off some contamination caused by his touch, but then it flopped on the ground in front of him, belly up. It looked up at him, almost expectantly. Drizzt, delighted, brushed a hand through the thick fur on its stomach. 

Suddenly the cat twisted and slapped a paw out at him. Drizzt gasped, and pulled back. There was a thin red line across his hand, from his wrist to his fingers. He frowned at the cat. It had been a trap. 

Footsteps approached. He looked up, tense, still holding his scratched hand. A woman stood over him. His neighbor, the cat’s owner. She picked up the cat, giving him a rather dirty look as she cradled it against her chest. 

He smiled up at her. Torrah had told him to smile at people more. The woman made a face, and quickly left. 

Later, Drizzt found Torrah in the garden, holding a small pair of scissors up to one of the smaller plants. He was surrounded by clippings of leaves. Drizzt sat on his knees beside him, and watched. 

“What does ‘creepy’ mean?” he asked after a while. 

Torrah looked up from his work. “Someone called you that?” he guessed. 

Drizzt nodded. 

He snipped another set of tiny leaves from the plant. “It means they don’t like you.” 

Drizzt frowned. “Oh.” 

“A lot of people are not going to like you, Drizzt. You’re going to have to get used to it. Doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. Just means that they think what they think and that’s how it’s going to be.” 

“How do I make them like me?” 

“You can’t. But you can treat them well, and maybe they’ll treat you well in return.” He set down the scissors. “Creepy…That’s a new one. I usually get ‘degenerate’, personally.” He smirked at Drizzt. “Come on. Help me get some water,” he said, handing him the smaller of two buckets. 

———

People didn’t much like Torrah, either, Drizzt eventually realized. It took him a while to understand, when they went out into town, that people were looking at _both_ of them with distaste, not just at Drizzt. He thought it was because of himself, at first--that their dislike for him was so strong that it rubbed off on anyone near him. But Torrah had been unpopular even before Drizzt was there. Perhaps there was a good reason he lived on the outskirts of the town. 

As time went by, and Drizzt spent more time around Crosswell, he began to find that there were a lot of things that bothered him about the town. He knew he should have been grateful to the humans for tolerating his presence. He did not belong there, after all. But after spending long enough in a place that was not your own, certain things inevitably started to grate on you. There were some things that humans did that he simply could not fathom. 

What annoyed him most often was the noise. On market days, the main road through town was a cacophony of voices in a language he could only half-understand, bursts of laughter, people calling to others far across the street, dogs barking or horses snorting. It seemed that no one could speak without shouting. It put him on edge, even more than the stares did. 

As Drizzt and Torrah walked through the market, a passing man shouted something, far too close to Drizzt’s ear, for the fourth or fifth time in as many minutes. Drizzt shot a glare at the man, which went unnoticed and unacknowledged. 

“Why do I never see anyone here training with weapons or magic?” he said to Torrah suddenly, frustrated. Humans were largely preoccupied with everyday concerns and short term pleasures--things like what they were going to have for dinner that night. Most of them, astoundingly, did not practice any religion of note, except on holy days. Social status was next to nonexistent in Crosswell. Some people were richer or poorer than others, and a few had positions of leadership over a few others, but those things played only a small role in their daily lives. It left him wondering what they had to strive for. They were all strangely lacking in ambition. In Menzoberranzan, they would have been called lazy and worse. 

“We don’t need to,” Torrah said without looking up. He was comparing two alembics from a glass blower’s shop, to replace one that had shattered several days ago. “There are better ways to spend one’s time.” 

“What if the town was attacked?” 

“That’s what the watch is here for.” 

“But there are not very many of them,” Drizzt said disapprovingly. “They could be easily overwhelmed.” He pointed at a group of young men sitting on the stoop outside a tavern. “Look at them. I see them sitting there every time we come here. They’re young. They should be learning to fight for their people.” 

Torrah glanced up at them disinterestedly. “They worked all day,” he said. “They come here to relax when they’re finished.” 

Drizzt frowned at the men, who by then had noticed him and were frowning back. He looked away. “If a drow raiding party attacked, the town would be decimated.” 

Torrah gave him a tired look. “Yes,” he drawled. “Keep talking like that. That’ll endear you to the locals.” 

Drizzt shrugged. They were speaking in the drow language. No one would understand them anyway. “Well, it’s true.” 

Torrah smirked, and continued shopping. 

After Drizzt had thought the discussion over and was absorbed in making a selection from a vender selling apples, he was suddenly slapped on the back of the head. He jumped, dropping the fruit he’d been holding. He turned to find Torrah standing casually beside him, as if he hadn’t done anything. 

“What was that for?” Drizzt demanded. 

Torrah put on a shocked look. “Oh! My apologies, Drizzt! I assumed your heightened drow senses would alert you to the attack before it happened. Then, I guess you aren’t prepared to be attacked at any moment? I wonder why that would be?” 

Drizzt scowled at him. “That’s not what I meant. You know it’s different.” 

Torrah just grinned and tousled his hair, a little more roughly than Drizzt would have liked. The two women selling the apples watched the exchange with amusement. 

“Don’t do that!” Drizzt said in a harsh whisper, pushing Torrah’s hand away. “They’re laughing at me.” 

“They are laughing _with_ you,” Torrah corrected him. 

Drizzt looked up at the women, self-conscious. One of them smiled at him, then reached into the pile of apples, took one out, and held it out to him. He took it uncertainly, then held out a coin for her. She waved a hand dismissively. Drizzt reluctantly withdrew the coin, surprised by the gesture. 

“Thank you,” he said to her in common. She smiled and nodded at him. These days, a year or so after he’d first come to Crosswell, there were about equal chances of the people around town smiling at him, scowling disapprovingly, or just staring. He did not usually have the luxury of merely being ignored--they almost always looked. He appreciated the ones who chose to smile.

“They think you’re cute,” Torrah said, smirking down at him. 

Drizzt frowned at him. The closest translation of ‘cute’ in the drow language meant something like ‘pathetic’. Torrah had assured him that it had more positive connotations in the common tongue. Drizzt still didn’t like it, but decided not to complain. 

On the way back home, Drizzt grudgingly began to reconsider the wisdom of some of the things he’d said earlier. He hadn’t meant to sound so critical. He liked Crosswell, despite knowing that he would never quite fit in there. He considered apologizing to Torrah. Maybe he should have reassured him that he was grateful to him for saving his life when he’d had nowhere to go. He was grateful for that every day. 

But it felt silly to say so. Torrah was not a sentimental man. He would have accepted the apology with a little confusion and Drizzt would have felt stupid for having said anything. He probably knew how he felt anyway, without Drizzt having to say anything. Of course he knew.


	3. Chapter 3

A collection of unfamiliar voices were talking loudly outside the house. 

When Drizzt went to investigate, he found a group of children from around town standing in a circle on the road just beyond his door. They were watching something on the ground with rapt attention. He approached, craning to see what they were looking at. 

“What’s going on?” he asked the group lightly. 

As they quieted and turned to him, Drizzt spotted a familiar small, black cat on the ground in the center of the group. It was crouched low to the ground, tense but grudgingly tolerating the hands petting and poking at it. 

“Hello, Drizzt,” said Tenney, flashing a brief smile his way. No one else bothered. They all turned back to the cat, ignoring him. 

“Ms. Eastwood said that if it has babies, I can have one,” Mattias said, running a hand rather too roughly over its head. “I’m going to name it Grognak. That’s an orc name.” 

“That’s stupid,” said Sonja, who was several years older than the rest of them. “Your parents would never let you call it that. A cat should be named something like ‘Sunflower’, or ‘Cinnamon’.” 

Drizzt came closer, watching the cat over the other children’s shoulders. “This one’s name is Luna,” he said, excited that they happened to be discussing a topic that was of great interest to him--his neighbor’s cat. 

Sonja stood up straight and looked at Drizzt. “My mother says you can’t play with us,” she announced, crossing her arms. The other children quieted and looked up at them, sensing the brewing confrontation. 

Drizzt looked around at all of them, and then back at Sonja. “Why not?” he asked, trying to smile. Torrah was always telling him to smile more, even though Torrah himself, Drizzt noticed, did not smile much. ‘ _Because I don’t have something to make up for,_ ’ Torrah had said. 

“Because,” the girl snapped. 

Drizzt hovered at the edge of their circle, defensive, as they all stared at him expectantly. The change in atmosphere had taken all the fun out of the moment, but now he felt that leaving would mean letting Sonja win, and he didn’t like that at all. “Well, it’s my house,” he said. “So I can be here if I want.” 

“Why do you talk like that?” 

“Like what?” 

Sonja rolled her eyes. 

“Your accent,” Tenney supplied. “You always hiss like a snake when you talk.”

“ 'Cause he’s stupid,” Sonja muttered, and turned her attention back to the cat. 

The cat flipped over on its back, baring its underside. Mattias eagerly brushed at it with both hands. He kept petting it too hard, like it was a dog and not a cat. 

“She doesn’t like it when you do that,” Drizzt warned. 

“Go away, Drizzit,” Sonja said.

“It’s ‘Drizzt’.” 

The cat flipped suddenly, slapping at the hands touching it. Mattias flinched and cried out in surprise. The cat tried to dart away, but Sonja grabbed it around its middle and picked it up. 

“Darn thing scratched me!” Mattias said, offended, as he examined the scratches on his arm. The others gathered around to look, as if they were life-threatening wounds instead of barely visible grazes. 

The cat squirmed and flailed in Sonja’s grip. The girl pulled her face away from its outstretched claws, and held it tighter against her chest. “Just calm down, will you?” she hissed at it. 

“Such a mean cat,” Mattias said. 

“She’s not mean, she just doesn’t like being pet like that,” Drizzt said, annoyed. “Let her go.” 

“Go _away_ ,” Sonja said to him again. 

Drizzt glared at her. The cat was still struggling wildly in her arms. “Put her down, Sonja, you’re going to hurt her!” 

“She’d be fine if she just stayed still!” She squeezed it harder to hold it still, and the cat gave an angry, panicked little growl that sent a wave of fear and pity through Drizzt. 

He went to the girl and pulled at her arms, trying to force her to let go. 

“Hey! Get away from me!” Sonja shouted as she pulled away from him, still not letting go of the cat. 

Suddenly there was a lot of shouting from all around. Several hands grabbed Drizzt’s arms and pulled him away. Tenney put his hands on Drizzt’s chest and shoved, and suddenly he was on the ground. 

The surprise and embarrassment of it amplified the small amount of pain it caused. Tears sprang to Drizzt’s eyes. He glared up at Tenney, furious. The boy immediately looked a little regretful, like he hadn’t meant to push him quite so hard--which Drizzt hardly registered. He was already drawing magic for a spell. 

Blue-violet flames sprouted over the arms and shoulders of each of the children. Drizzt watched their eyes widen as they saw the flames on each other, and then on themselves. 

They all screamed. Some of them batted at their clothes to try to put the fires out. Others just ran, forgetting all reason in their panic. 

Drizzt instantly regretted doing it. He quickly extinguished the harmless faerie fire flames, horrified by their reactions, but it was too late to take it back. The children ran, still screaming. Luna had leapt from Sonja’s arms and streaked down the road like lightning. 

“It won’t hurt you!” Drizzt called after them desperately. “It’s fake!” 

None of them stopped. Drizzt watched them run all the way down the road. 

Torrah was going to have some things to say about this when he returned. A lot of people were, probably. 

He turned to go hide inside the house as his eyes welled up with angry tears. As he did, he spotted Ms. Eastwood watching him from her doorway. She glared at him, and shook her head in disapproval. 

“I was trying to help Luna!” he shouted at her indignantly. 

She made a sour face, and quickly went back inside. 

———

Years went by. 

One morning, a group of dwarves came to Crosswell. 

The people in town were accustomed to Drizzt and left him alone, aside from the comments they sometimes made under their breath when they thought he couldn’t hear. But strangers were another story. His mere presence caused a scene. He knew enough by then to just avoid new people rather than have to endure a confrontation with them. It was easier for everyone involved that way. So instead of going into town with Torrah that day like he’d planned, he went through the south gate and walked into the fields outside of town, stopping when he reached the river. 

He climbed out on a limb of an oak that stretched over the water, and settled himself in the shade there. He’d spent more of his life on the surface than in the Underdark, by then, but the sun still hurt his eyes. He wished it was cloudy. 

Voices from town carried on the wind toward him, jovial and loud. It was market day, and because it was early summer and one of the warmest days of the year so far, there were even more people out than usual. 

He entertained himself by dropping twigs and leaves into the water and watching them float away. 

He’d meant to go further off someplace—explore a part of the hills he hadn’t been to yet, or go swimming in the lake east of town, maybe. But suddenly he felt tired and disinterested in walking anywhere else. 

He was bored a lot, these days. When he wasn’t helping Torrah with work, he had little to do. It seemed that the less he did, the less he was interested in finding something to do--which made him do less in turn, and so on. 

A lot of the other people his age went into town in groups after they’d finished the day’s work. That sort of thing was the primary source of entertainment in Crosswell. But he didn’t have anyone except Torrah to go with, and he and Torrah saw plenty of each other already. And, though he wouldn’t have told anyone this, he did not have the confidence to go alone. 

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been sitting there long before he spotted someone approaching—to his relief, she had not noticed him yet. It was a girl he’d never seen before. He would have remembered someone like her. 

Her hair was big and red, like autumn leaves. An unusual color for humans. She looked close to his age. That is to say, she looked like a human in her mid teens. There was a sword on her hip. He raised an eyebrow at that. 

He watched her wade through the tall, dry grasses beside the river. By the bank, she paused to pick up a large rock, and tossed it into the river. She leapt backward to avoid the massive splash it caused, and grinned. He found himself smiling with her, without having meant to. 

She watched the water. Taking a breath, she faced the sun and stretched, closing her eyes as she reached her arms high over her head. Drizzt’s eyes were drawn to the delicate curves of her chest as her dress tightened with the movement. He stared for a few moments, then guiltily averted his gaze. 

It wasn’t as if he had never seen a pretty girl before. But he felt the same uncomfortable want every time he did, no matter how many times it happened. 

None of the girls in town would have anything to do with him, of course--not that he had ever been foolish enough to ask any of them. Even if they’d wanted to--and they didn’t--they wouldn’t anyway, because people would have talked. 

But this girl was someone new. From a distance, he could imagine she was friendlier than other people he knew. He could pretend that she wouldn’t hate him as soon as she saw him. He could picture her smiling at him instead of looking annoyed or angry or frightened. 

She kept coming closer. It occurred to him that he was in danger of being seen, and she was too close now for him to move away without her noticing. He considered calling out to her, so she wouldn’t think he’d been intentionally hiding. He hoped that she simply wouldn’t see him, and he wouldn’t have to speak to her at all. 

But then, she happened to look up. Drizzt froze. The girl jumped with alarm. Her hand went to the hilt of her sword. 

Drizzt scowled. He got up, walked along the branch back to the trunk of the tree, and dropped to the ground. He turned and walked away from the girl without so much as looking at her, not wanting to have to explain himself, again, like always. When he looked back over his shoulder to see if she’d followed or run, she was still standing there, staring after him. His face burned. He walked all the way back home and shut the door hard behind him, and didn’t come out again that day. 

———

The next day, he chose to go another mile down the river, further away from town, where he wouldn’t be bothered again. 

So he was surprised when, halfway through the afternoon, that same girl came marching through the grass along the river, on a path straight toward him. 

He sighed, and got up to leave. Couldn’t she have just walked someplace else? 

“Hey!” the girl yelled, and hurried to catch him. Drizzt flinched. He faced her and waited, morose. 

She slowed as she approached, watching him in the wary way that strangers always did. She gave a small smile as she stopped in front of him. “Rude to walk off when someone’s trying to talk to ye, don’t ye think?” she said, in an amiable sort of way. 

He shifted, frowning, even though he suspected she was joking. Everything he did was wrong, it seemed. Staying too close to her was a problem. Getting out of her way was a problem. “Please accept my deepest apologies,” he said, letting a hint of sarcasm leak through. The girl didn’t miss it. She raised her eyebrows slightly, and Drizzt regretted the tone. 

“What do you want?” he said, eager to get the interaction over with. 

The girl pursed her lips as she looked him over, with curiosity, and also with a little disapproval, as if she was regretting her decision to approach him. “Actually,” she said, “I was comin’ to find yerself to...apologize. About yesterday.” 

Drizzt paused, taken aback. Then he shrugged, looking away. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” 

“There is. I upset ye.” 

“I was not upset,” he scoffed. His face burned again. 

She blinked. “Well when ye walked off like that, I thought I’d hurt—” 

He crossed his arms. “I was not upset. I don’t care.” 

He saw a hint of surprised offense stain her features. She rolled her eyes a little. “Alright then. So ye weren’t. I apologize for apologizin’, I guess.” 

Drizzt picked at a loose thread on the sleeve of his shirt, and looked at the river instead of the girl. She was making him feel stupid. It was probably because he was, in fact, stupid. He cleared his throat. “You arrived with the dwarves?” he asked. 

Her posture relaxed a little. “I did. Me dad’s still doin’ stuff in town and I’m bored straight to death, so here I am. Hard to find other folk me own age, or thereabouts at least. Seems everyone I meet’s either a babe or somebody’s mother, with no in between.” She cocked her head at him. “How old are ye, anyway?” 

Drizzt hesitated. Humans always asked a lot of exhausting questions when he told them his real age. The corners of his mouth pulled downward. “I would...rather not say,” he said. 

The girl smirked, but didn’t press. 

“I’m thinkin’ I’ll go climb that hill over there,” she said, pointing to the haystack-shaped rock in the distance on the other side of the river. “Some folk in town telled me ye know the area well. Maybe ye could come along, help me fight off any goblins or such we might find lurkin’ out there.” 

He looked down at the sword on her hip. “Seems like you can take care of yourself,” he said, wondering if she was poking fun at his skinniness and lack of weaponry. 

She sighed, with the air of someone putting on a lot of patience for someone who was very difficult to be patient with. “Yeah. ‘Course I can.” She looked at him for a long moment, waiting. Then, frowning, she turned and started walking back the way she’d come, without so much as a good-bye. 

Drizzt straightened. Somewhere between the beginning of the meeting and now, he’d realized that he didn’t want her to leave, and suddenly he regretted not trying harder to make a good impression. “Ah—” he began, having no follow up. The girl turned to him, and waited. 

He pointed down the river. “There is a crossing down there. I could show you. If you like.” 

The girl arched one eyebrow. She shrugged. “Lead on, then.” 

———

Her name was Catti-Brie. 

“So,” she said casually, as they reached the base of the hill. “...Ye’re a drow.” 

“Yes.” 

“How’s that?” 

“It just is,” he said, frowning a little. He looked up, and saw her watching him curiously. She was still deciding what she thought of him. “But my mother looked like you, you know. She had quite a shock when I came out looking like this.” 

She laughed. “Ah. I know all about that. It was the same with me an’ the dwarves, o’ course.” 

He was so pleased about having made her laugh that it took him a moment to notice the broad, stupid smile she’d put on his face. He put his head down, and followed her along the path up the hill. 

“I did think you looked quite tall for a dwarf,” he said. 

She smiled back at him. “Tallest in the clan, by me guess.” 

She climbed faster than he did, walking with self-assured steps like it was something she did frequently and was accustomed to. She clambered up the steep slopes and rock faces, using branches and bits of stone as foot and hand holds. Then she would sit and look out at the fields while she waited for him to catch up. 

They reached the top of the hill as the sun was beginning to set. Catti-Brie sat on a flat rock and looked out at the expanse of green below. 

“It’s beautiful here,” she said, resting her chin in her hand as she looked out at the setting sun. “Everything so green. Back in the dale it’s all white most of the year, and for most of the rest it’s yellow an’ brown.” 

“You don’t like it there?” 

“I’m likin’ it well enough. It’s home. But I never wanted to stay there forever. Too many other places to see. I’m sure ye can understand.” 

Drizzt considered that. He’d never thought about it much before. He would not say that he was happy in Crosswell, exactly, but it was comfortable and easy for the moment. The alternative--venturing out in the world, meeting people he didn’t know, was something he was afraid to think about. 

But things were more urgent for humans. They had to think about these things early on, or they could quickly end up spending an entire short lifetime stuck in one place. 

He didn’t like to think about that, either. 

“Do you travel often, then?” he asked. 

“A bit. We made the trip all the way down to Waterdeep last year. Have ye been?” 

“Uh...No.” 

“What about Neverwinter?” 

“You’ve been there, as well?” he said, beginning to feel a little intimidated—as if he hadn’t felt that way already. 

“I was there three winters ago. Do ye know they have rose gardens there that stay in bloom even in the snow?” 

“Yes,” he lied shortly, not wanting to seem uneducated—which he was. Catti-Brie gave him a small smile, looking amused by the brief response. 

He hadn’t been anywhere except Crosswell and Llangelier, the nearby city that Torrah had rescued him from all those years ago--and truthfully, even those trips to Llangelier had been rare. He must have seemed very boring to someone like her. 

“I, uh…” He tried to think of a place he could have claimed to have been to—someplace she wouldn’t have known enough about to ask too many questions, and one that would have possibly allowed a drow through its gates, and that was close enough for him to have conceivably had a reason to go there. 

The task quickly became too difficult. And, the idea of lying to her made his stomach churn a little, anyway. 

“I haven’t been anywhere interesting, really…” he admitted reluctantly. 

She turned to look at him square on. “What about the Underdark?” she asked slyly. 

He pursed his lips. He supposed that was an interesting place. “I don’t remember much of it. I left when I was young.” 

“Tell me what ye remember.” 

He tried to think of something interesting to tell her about. The things that made the Underdark unique were generally not pleasant things. 

The most of-note event he could think of was the time he’d seen watched a sacrifice in the chapel. It had been a slave, a drow male. His heart had still been beating when Briza had cut it out and held it in her hand, and his legs had kept twitching for some time afterward. Drizzt remembered that specifically, because he had found it so frightening at the time. ‘ _ That’s what will happen to you if you don’t behave,’ _ Vierna had told him. 

Catti-Brie probably wouldn’t want to hear about that. 

“It’s...dark,” he said. “Dangerous. Not a good place for a vacation.” 

“Ye don’t say?” 

He smiled, and shrugged. He was grateful when she didn’t press him. She seemed to be able to read when he was feeling uncomfortable, and was kind enough to accommodate him. 

They went quiet for a time, watching the horizon begin to glow orange. 

While she looked out at the landscape, he looked at her. She wore a wistful sort of look, and seemed deep in thought. 

She glanced at him, and he realized he’d been staring. He quickly looked away. He saw her smiling out of the corner of his eye. He looked down at the hillside, instead, and caught sight of a yellow flower on a long stalk sticking out of the side of the cliff. 

“Look at that--there’s an aurum plant down there,” he said, peering over the edge of the cliff. The slope there was far steeper than the way they’d come up--nearly vertical. 

Catti-Brie followed his gaze. “A what?” 

“That yellow flower. We use the roots in our work. The plants only grow on west-facing rocks like this. They’re very difficult to find, but one plant can last us for a month.” 

She rested her hands on her knees as she bent to look with him. “We?” she asked. 

“My…” He paused, wondering how to best describe his relationship to Torrah. Adopted father? Business partner? “My...uncle.” 

“I see. And what sort of work are the two of ye doin’?” 

He glanced up at her self-consciously. She had liked it better when he was open with her, so far. “Brewing nocturne,” he said quietly. 

She smiled uncertainly, as if she thought he was joking, and quickly realized he wasn’t. “Didn’t know ye were that sort,” she said, raising her eyebrows. 

“I don’t use it,” he said quickly. “My...uncle, makes it to sell, and I help him. That’s all.” 

Catti-Brie was quiet for a few moments, and Drizzt regretted telling her. He should have made something up, or not brought it up at all. 

“I can get the thing for ye,” she said confidently. 

“You can—” Drizzt began to ask, not understanding at first. She was still looking down at the flower. He quickly shook his head. “You don’t have to do that.” 

She was already climbing down onto a wobbling bush that stuck out of the side of the hill, her eyes scanning below her for more foot holds. 

“It’s too far down,” he protested. “Catti-Brie, please—” 

“Ye sound like me dad,” she said, chuckling. “Don’t worry so much.” 

He watched, and continued to worry, as she carefully climbed down the cliffside. 

She set her feet on the lumpy bases of two ferns on either side of the aurum plant, and bent down to reach it. She gripped it by the base of the stem, and gently wriggled and pulled until the entire plant, root and all, came loose in a shower of dirt. Triumphant, she looked up at him, waving the plant. 

He smiled, impressed. “Now how are you going to get back up?” 

“Have some faith, will ye?” she said, but as she spoke, the dirt under one of her feet suddenly crumbled away. Her arms wheeled as she lost her balance. She grabbed hold of a branch, which promptly snapped, and she fell down the slope. 

“Catti-Brie!” Drizzt shouted, but could do nothing but watch her fall. The girl slid down the cliffside and landed heavily on a narrow, flat stone that jutted just far enough out of the cliff to stop her fall. 

“Catti-Brie?” Drizzt called to her again. 

She stayed still for a few moments. Then she groaned. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, looking pained, and put a hand to her head. She paused, as if checking herself over. Then she looked up at Drizzt. She smiled lopsidedly, and held up the flower. She’d held on to it the entire time. 

Drizzt shook his head in disbelief. “Are you alright?” 

“A few bumps, that’s all,” she said, examining the scrapes on her hands. She slowly climbed to her feet. “Should be--ah!” She gasped in pain, and her leg collapsed under her. It would not support her weight. 

“I’m coming down,” Drizzt said. 

“Don’t,” Catti-Brie said, but he’d already begun climbing. Very carefully, he lowered himself down the slope. It wasn’t as frightening as he’d thought it would be--or maybe knowing that she needed his help just made him more brave. 

When he stepped onto the stone beside her, she gave him an unimpressed look. 

“Ye realize we’re _both_ stuck here, now?” she said. 

“No. I think I can float us down from here. If you...uh...hold on to me,” he said, a little sheepishly. 

“What’re ye meanin’ by that?” 

He shrugged. “Some drow have the ability to levitate for a short while each day.” 

“Are ye tryin’ to tell me ye can _fly_?” she said, giving a short laugh. “Do ye take me for a fool?” 

“No. But I can,” he said simply. 

She raised her eyebrows. She looked over the edge of the rock, apprehensive. It was much further down than the distance she’d fallen so far, and just as steep. 

She looked up at him suspiciously. “So...we’ll just...jump off o’ here? And not fall to our deaths?” 

“It isn’t so frightening once you do it, I promise.” 

“Not a matter of fright,” she scoffed. “It’s a matter o’ common sense.” 

“You don’t believe me?” Drizzt asked, disappointed. 

“If someone telled ye to jump off a cliff, would ye do it, just because they asked ye to?” 

She had a point. Drizzt took a step back, then closed his eyes, concentrating. After a moment, he felt his feet lift off the ground. He opened his eyes, and peered down at Catti-Brie. She looked down at the few inches of space under his feet, then up at him, eyes wide. 

“Well,” she said quietly. “I guess ye _can_ fly. A couple inches, at least. That’s more than I could do, I admit.” 

He smiled. “If you want to get down before tomorrow, we should go before the spell wears off.” He offered her a hand. 

She hesitated, then took it, and let him pull her to her feet, keeping her weight balanced on one foot. She hesitated again, then uncertainly leaned into him and wrapped her arms around his neck. 

“Better not drop me,” she said. Her hair brushed the side of his face. 

He held her around the waist. “I--No. Uh. I won’t.” Suddenly his heart was beating very fast. He hoped she couldn’t feel it. He tightened his arms around her, then stepped off the cliff. 

Catti-Brie gave a tiny gasp beside his ear as the ground gave way to open space beneath them. Her arms closed tighter around him. 

Drizzt, suddenly, was fully occupied with keeping his promise not to drop her. They were falling rather more quickly than he’d hoped they would. The extra weight put more stress on the spell. He carefully kicked his feet under him, working out a balance on the nothingness that was currently supporting him. Even after doing it a hundred times, the physics of levitation were difficult to get a grasp on. Extra weight aside, he was not as good at the spell as he’d been when he was younger. It seemed to grow more difficult each time he cast it. 

They floated down past the treetops, and suddenly they were quickly approaching the ground. Drizzt had imagined gently touching down on the soft grass beside the hill, feet first. Instead, they began listing sideways at the last moment, and tumbled to the ground in a heap. Each of them gave soft grunts of surprise as they hit. 

“Ah--I’m sorry,” Drizzt said quickly, embarrassed by his lack of control over the spell. 

Catti-Brie sat up on her elbows and looked at him, still stunned by the sudden impact. Then she burst out laughing. 

Drizzt smiled, confused. “What’s so funny?” he said, laughing along with her. 

“I was so scared!” she said through gasps of laughter. “Oh, by Moradin. That was amazin’. Do ye do that a lot?” 

“Sometimes,” he said with a shrug. 

She grinned, shaking her head. “If I were yerself, I’d do it all the time.” She sighed. “We should be gettin’ back. Going to take forever, with me leg this way.” 

They walked back across the fields, with Catti-Brie holding an arm over his shoulder for balance. She apologized for it—as if it were some kind of inconvenience to have a girl putting her arms around him. It was past nightfall by the time they reached the river. 

“This is the most fun I’ve had in a long while,” Catti-brie said as they stepped onto the bridge. 

Drizzt glanced up at her in surprise, suppressing a grin. “You injured yourself,” he pointed out. “You could have died.” 

“Ah, it’s nothin’. I got to fly today. Worth it, I’d say.” 

The guard on watch at the city gate gave them an odd look, but opened the gate for them without comment. 

“We’re goin’ to be around another day or so,” she added, looking over at him. “Maybe, if ye’re not busy tomorrow…” 

“I’m not busy,” he said immediately, and began thinking of excuses to give Torrah for why he wouldn’t be able to help him that day. 

She smiled, and took a breath to say something. Then she looked ahead of them, and her face fell. “Oh.” 

“What?” he said, then followed her gaze. A cluster of dwarves, along with two members of the city watch, stood talking to Torrah outside his house. None of them looked happy, including Torrah. One of the dwarves jabbed a finger in the man’s face as if to emphasize a point. Torrah, not easily baited, only raised an eyebrow. 

Drizzt’s heart sank. They’d worried about Catti-Brie when she hadn’t come back before dark. They’d gone looking for her, and someone had told them that she’d come to find him earlier that day. Of course they’d imagined he’d done something to her. 

One of the dwarves spotted the two of them approaching, and tapped the others’ shoulders. All of them turned around and fixed him with hostile stares. 

Catti-Brie slipped her arm off of his shoulder. The dwarves approached, and the one leading them was so red in the face that Drizzt wondered if he should run. He took a step back as the dwarf stepped up to him. 

“You! Drow!” the dwarf barked at him. “Ye’ll be keepin’ yerself away from me girl or I’ll be puttin’ ye back underground where ye came from. Do ye take me meaning?” 

One of the other dwarves offered Catti-Brie an arm. She took it, and sighed. She looked up at Drizzt. “This is me dad. Bruenor Battlehammer,” she said flatly. 

“Don’t be introducin’ me to him, girl,” the dwarf snapped at her, and turned back to Drizzt. “Do ye understand, yes or no? ‘Cause I could make it a little clearer for ye! Ye ever lay one little finger on her again and ye’ll be answerin’ to me!” 

Behind him, Catti-Brie rolled her eyes apologetically. 

Drizzt looked down at the furious dwarf, uncertain. “Okay,” he said. 

“For the gods’ sake, leave the boy alone,” Torrah said, crossing his arms. “Your girl is fine.” 

The dwarf whirled on him. “And I don’t much like yerself, either! So why don’t the both of ye just keep out o’ the way o’ me and mine, and we won’t have any trouble. Eh?” He glared at both of them before he turned on his heel and stomped off. Catti-Brie and the others followed. The girl stopped beside Torrah as they passed. She handed him the aurum plant, which she’d still been holding. Torrah gave a bemused nod in response. 

When they had gone, Torrah turned to Drizzt, and smiled. He didn’t say anything. Drizzt realized he’d been smiling stupidly again, and quickly stopped.

“What?” Drizzt said defensively. 

“What’s her name?” Torrah said. 

Drizzt watched the red-haired girl walking into the distance. “Why?” 

Torrah shrugged. “Just curious.” 

“You don’t have to make a big thing of it, Torrah,” Drizzt said, rolling his eyes. 

Torrah’s smile widened. He shook his head, and turned to walk back inside.

———

“Found ye.” 

Drizzt, who was halfway through watering the fourth row of plants in the garden, looked up and found Catti-Brie standing in the doorway to the house. Her ankle had been tightly bandaged, and she had a wooden crutch under each arm. 

“Ye’re hidin’ away, I see. Even though ye promised to meet me again today,” she said, raising her eyebrows in an accusatory manner. 

Drizzt set his watering can on the ground. “I assumed that was off. After...you know.” 

She pressed her lips together. “Ah. Sorry about that.” 

“It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.” 

“I know he wasn’t meanin’ any of it. I told him how ye helped me. I can tell he feels sorry about what he said.”

“Then he won’t be angry with us for spending time together?” 

Catti-Brie gave a sly smile. “Well, he won’t be angry if he doesn’t find out, will he?” 

Drizzt gave a self-conscious smile. There was a pause. Catti-Brie waited, still in the doorway, and Drizzt shifted uncomfortably. What were you supposed to do when someone came to visit at your house? What did she want him to do? 

She propped the crutches against the side of the house, then sat down on the doorstep. After a moment, he came and sat down on the step beside her. 

“Ye’ve got a cat,” Catti-Brie said, grinning. 

Drizzt looked up, and saw Luna trotting silently toward them. He shook his head, then pointed toward the house next door. “Our neighbor’s.” The cat wound itself through his legs, rubbing its cheeks on him. 

“Looks like he likes ye anyway,” Catti-Brie said. 

“It’s a girl.” He picked up the cat and set it on his lap. The cat wobbled on his legs, and peered around from its new vantage point. When the cat was younger, it had been more skittish, and probably would have run off after a few scant seconds. In its old age, it had grown friendlier and lazier. It curled into a ball in his lap. He smiled. 

“Turns out, most animals will like you if you leave meat scraps out for them. Don’t tell the neighbors, though. The old woman over there doesn’t like me.” 

“Doesn’t she? What did ye do to upset her?” 

“Nothing, really. I think she decided it when she first met me. Now it’s been so long that she’s embarrassed to change her mind, because that would mean admitting she was wrong all this time.” 

Catti-Brie smiled ruefully. “There’s somebody up in the dale who’s done the same with meself.” 

“With you?” Drizzt said, disbelieving. “Who could dislike you?” 

“People have their reasons. Mighten be the same reason yer neighbor dislikes yerself. Sometimes, if ye’re the one different one in a group of folk who’re all the same…” She shrugged. “Or, maybe it’s just me bad personality.” 

“I doubt that.” 

She smirked, and reached a hand out to carefully pet the cat in his lap as she looked around at the rows of plants. The cat’s ears twitched. It was already half asleep. 

“This is what ye do, then?” she said, nodding to the plants. 

“Yes. It isn’t much…” he said with a shrug. He had never fully realized, until that moment, how bored he was with the work he and Torrah did. Hearing Catti-Brie talk about her travels the previous day had made him feel like he’d been missing something in his life. 

He wondered if it would make Torrah unhappy if he told him he wanted to try doing something else. He might be offended, even if he wouldn’t say so. Drizzt frowned. He hated the idea of Torrah being disappointed in him. 

“Well ye don’t have to do it for the rest of yer life,” Catti-Brie said. “Ye’ll find somethin’ else ye like, I bet.” 

“Maybe.” 

She was smiling at him oddly. Suddenly she leaned over and touched her lips lightly to his cheek. He froze. 

“What are you doing?” he said, blushing furiously and steadfastly not looking at her. 

“What kind o’ silly question is that?” she replied with a nervous laugh. Drizzt looked up at her. Her cheeks were pink. 

“I mean, why?” he clarified. 

She bit her lip. “ ‘Cause I like you, and I don’t know if I’ll get another chance to do that, if I wait.” 

He’d almost forgotten that she would be leaving soon. A weight settled on his shoulders. It made him feel sad and emboldened at the same time. 

“I like you, too.” 

He had expected to see her smile at him again. She did, for a moment, bitterly. 

“Maybe we’ll be seein’ each other again someday, eh?” 

He tried to smile. Icewind Dale was a very, very long way from Crosswell. “Yeah. Someday.” 

“We still have the rest o’ today,” she pointed out. She reached down and took his hand. “Come on and show me around town.” 

“Haven’t you already seen the town?” 

“Yes, but no one’s _showed_ it to me.” 

Drizzt smiled. The cat jumped off his lap as he got up and pulled Catti-Brie to her feet.


	4. Chapter 4

It was shortly after Catti-Brie and the dwarves left that Drizzt began to think he might want to find a home of his own. It had been a long time--longer, probably, than Torrah had originally anticipated when he’d brought Drizzt into his home--and Drizzt was not a child anymore. They both needed space. 

When Drizzt happened to walk in on him in a compromising position with the clothier who lived down the road, he stopped merely thinking about it and started looking for another place to live. 

After some asking around, they found a small, dilapidated shack not terribly far from Torrah’s house. It was tiny and dirty and smelled like old rain and the roof was caving in in one corner, but to Drizzt it seemed filled with possibilities. The idea of his own house, his own life, was exciting and strange and a little frightening. 

He had never thought much about money, and had never considered asking for a salary for the work he did. But it turned out that Torrah had been putting money aside for him for just this occasion, and they bought the place outright. 

After this move, it seemed only natural to look for some work outside of the things he did with Torrah. It was long overdue. He had already informed Torrah that he had no intention of taking over the business when he retired. Torrah had seemed inexplicably annoyed by that revelation, despite having told Drizzt more than once that he hadn’t expected him to. 

A little self-consciously, he brought himself to the meeting hall, where the town council met. He was surprised when the heads of the council, Dalys and Johannes, came out to meet him. They were husband and wife now, though they hadn’t been the first time he’d met them, back on that first night he had arrived in Crosswell. After Drizzt quickly explained what he was after, Dalys enthusiastically led him to an empty back room where they could speak. Johannes trailed behind, less enthusiastic. 

“Do you have any skills? A craft?” Johannes said skeptically as soon as they sat down. He was across the table from Drizzt, beside Dalys, sitting very straight as if to make himself look taller. He crossed his arms. “Is there anything you do besides drug peddling?” 

Dalys gave Johannes a sharp look. 

“I don’t peddle them, exactly, I—” Drizzt began to correct him, but then he saw the look on Johannes’s face, and stopped. 

Dalys turned to Drizzt, gentler. “Have you ever done any woodworking?” she suggested. “Or baking, maybe? I bet there’s something you’re not thinking of.” 

“I...don’t think so,” Drizzt said. He shifted uncomfortably. It was about how he’d guessed the conversation would go. Torrah had told him to go anyway, and now he was beginning to regret letting him convince him. 

He might have gotten work as a farmhand or doing some other manual labor, except that he was physically weaker than most humans. He could probably handle working in a shop, but he would scare off any customers from out of town. Who would want to hire a drow when they could hire any of a hundred other surface folk instead? He was a charity case. 

“Then what do you expect us to do about it?” Johannes said dully. “You should have been considering this long ago. Most boys your age have already completed apprenticeships and gone on to make their own lives. Our son is younger than you and he’s head bookkeeper for the Blackbough Company in Llangelier now.” 

Drizzt bit back an apology. He was torn between shame and annoyance. He shouldn’t apologize, he decided at length. “I don’t like to bother you with this,” he said. “I know your time is valuable. It’s just that I don’t know where to start looking. Maybe there is someone who’d be willing to apprentice me, even if I’m a little too old? I just want to try to be a productive member of the community.” He looked at Johannes, attempting an ingratiating smile. 

They were all quiet for a moment, and Drizzt began to slump, losing hope that they would have anything to offer him. 

“Maybe there is something that my...unique capabilities could be useful for?” Drizzt asked. 

“Being a drow isn’t useful for anything, if that’s what you’re implying,” Johannes scoffed. Then he jumped suddenly, and shot a glare at Dalys. Drizzt got the distinct impression that she’d kicked him beneath the table. He suppressed a smile. 

But then Dalys brightened. “Now that you mention it--perhaps we do have something. So long as you don’t mind staying up late.” 

  
  
  


An hour or so after the sun had set, Drizzt climbed up the ladder to the guard tower at the south entrance to town. When he poked his head through the hatch, the man sitting at the table in the center of the room looked up at him. The man took a lazy bite of the apple in his hand as he studied him, and Drizzt studied him back. Drizzt knew his face—he’d worked in the tower for a long time—but did not know his name. He was one of the few people in town who had brownish skin like Torrah--a fact which seemed very significant among the humans, though to Drizzt it seemed hardly different from the slightly paler skin tones that the other humans had. 

“You must be Drizzt,” he said, his voice laced with irony, because everyone in town knew Drizzt by reputation. 

“How did you guess?” Drizzt climbed up into the tower, closing the hatch behind him. “It’s just us?” 

The man nodded. “No one else wants to be up in the middle of the night. I don’t either, if I’m honest.” He looked up at Drizzt, tilting his head. “I suppose you don’t mind, do you? Aren’t you folk nocturnal?” 

“Something like that.” 

The man extended a hand. “Tuomas.” 

Drizzt shook the proffered hand, and the man gestured to one of the chairs beside the table. Drizzt sat, uncertainly. Tuomas took another bite of the apple, looking out into the empty fields, and didn’t say anything else. 

The guard tower was a small room, about fifteen feet square. It was nearly empty except for the table and chairs in the middle, and a few loaded crossbows sitting neatly on a shelf against the wall. The walls only went halfway to the roof, leaving a three hundred sixty degree view of the land surrounding the town. 

“Is there anything I’m supposed to do?” Drizzt asked. 

Tuomas smiled. “You sit. You look,” he said, nodding out at the fields around them. “You sit some more. If anyone comes--they rarely do--you ask them who they are and what they’re here for, and you let them through. Then you go home. The gate goes down with the sun, and comes up again at dawn.” He took another bite of the apple. “I can’t see anything beyond the edge of that torch over there, by the way.” 

“Really?” Drizzt said, raising his eyebrows. The man was practically blind. 

Tuomas nodded matter-of-factly. “Not when there’s no moon like this. So you’ll tell me if there’s something out there that looks dangerous?” 

“Of course,” Drizzt said, scanning the fields with a renewed interest. He didn’t know why they hadn’t brought him here years ago. They needed him. He was happy to have something he was good at--even if it wasn’t a skill, really. 

“How often do you see something?” Drizzt said. “Something dangerous, that is?” 

Tuomas thought. “There was that time Hilla and I saw a giant.” He pointed. “Right over there. I mean, real far away, but, we  _ did  _ see it.” 

“I see.” 

“Don’t sound so disappointed about it. What, you  _ want _ to have to fight a giant?” He shook his head, looking shaken by the very thought. 

“Maybe,” Drizzt said, only half joking. Tuomas snorted. 

“Hey,” he said, tossing the apple core out the side of the tower. “On second thought, there is something you can do. Take one of those crossbows and do some target practice. There’s a tree down there you can shoot at.” 

Some small, boyish part of him got a little giddy at the offer. “Really?” 

“I’ve never had to actually shoot anything except for a few goblins, and a bear one time--but you still have to know how to do it. Have you ever shot a crossbow?” 

“No.” 

“Better get to practicing, then.” 

———

A number of years later, Drizzt awoke one day to a rapid knocking on his door. 

Pale light was filtering through the heavy curtains on his windows at an angle that told him it was still early morning. He had only begun his reverie an hour or so ago. 

There was another panicked-sounding knock. “Drizzt?” someone called from the other side of the door. Drizzt rolled out of bed, groggy, and dragged himself to the door. When he opened it, Tuomas was waiting on the other side, practically hopping from foot to foot with anxious energy. 

“Oh!” Tuomas said, relief vivid on his face. “Good. You’re here.” 

“I was asleep,” Drizzt pointed out. His annoyance was tempered by Tuomas’s visible nervousness. “Has something happened?” 

“Not yet. Come on.” 

Tuomas instructed him to quickly get dressed and follow him to the guard tower. When they got there, Hilla was waiting for them, watching something in the fields outside the walls through a spyglass. The gate, Drizzt noticed, was down, even though it was daytime. 

“She’s still there,” Hilla muttered, serious for once. 

“Who?” 

She handed him the spyglass. “Drow,” she said somberly. 

Drizzt’s eyebrows went up. He scanned the fields, then looked through the spyglass. “How many?” 

“Just one, I think.” 

It took him a few seconds to locate the figure--a lone female drow, lying on her back in the shadow of a broad tree. Drizzt wondered if she was dead until she raised an arm and draped it elegantly over her eyes. Drizzt lowered the spyglass, staring out into the field. 

“What in the world is she doing?” he murmured. Maybe it was a trap. A strange one, if it was. 

“We hoped you could...go find out?” Tuomas suggested. 

Drizzt turned to him. Tuomas shrugged apologetically. 

Hilla, seeing Drizzt’s expression, chuckled. “He’s afraid of her!” 

“Of course I am--she’s a drow,” Drizzt said. 

“Wise words,” Tuomas said. 

“Well who else is going to talk to her?” Hilla said.

“Maybe none of us,” Drizzt said. “Maybe she will move on in her own time.” 

“Come on,” Hilla said, giving him a gentle shove. “What are you good for, if not this?” 

Drizzt frowned. 

“If she doesn’t speak common, you’ll be the only one who can talk to her,” Tuomas said. 

“I haven’t spoken the drow language in years. I hardly remember it.” 

“Bullshit,” Hilla said. 

“Maybe she won’t try to kill you on sight, at least,” Tuomas pressed. 

“Or she will.” Drizzt stared out at the drow in the field. Even through the apprehension, he felt a strange sort of longing, watching her. He had not seen any of his people since he’d left the Underdark. He wanted to talk to her, he realized. Badly. If she was here, on the surface, alone, what did that mean? Had she come here in search of a new life? Did she need his help? 

Already he was imagining what it might be like, having one of his own around. Maybe the two of them could become friends. Maybe she would be willing to come live in Crosswell, if he could convince her she would be safe there. People would be suspicious at first, but they would come to like her, just as they, mostly, had come to like him. 

It was a scenario he had privately daydreamed about many times before. It was foolish—something he had mostly left behind with childhood. But here he was, daydreaming about it again, ignoring what he knew was the truth—that drow didn’t like humans and certainly didn’t care to live among them, or among Drizzt, by extension. 

Hilla raised her eyebrows, leaning in. “She’s just lying there. Maybe she needs help,” she said, as if she’d read his mind. “Would you leave one of your kin alone in their time of need?” 

Drizzt looked at her, then at Tuomas. He handed the spyglass back to Hilla. 

“You are both useless,” he informed them. “Give me a weapon, at least?” 

Hilla smiled grimly and handed him a crossbow. 

“Watch my back, will you? If I signal, come help me.” 

“What’s the signal?” Tuomas said. 

“Screaming and running.” He climbed down from the tower and walked out through the gate. 

  
  
  


He slowed as he neared the figure. He could see the black of her sleeve through the grass. He could see the white of her hair. He took a few steps closer, and he could see all of her. Her arm still rested over her eyes. She wore dark, elaborately detailed clothes made of expensive spider silk, a piwafwi, and a narrow, elegant-looking sword at her side. Drow garb made for traveling in the wilds of the Underdark. Drizzt felt suddenly self-conscious next to her, in his plain human clothes. 

He stared at her for a few long moments. He hadn’t seen anyone who looked like himself for decades by then, except when he looked in a mirror. It felt like a dream. Or maybe a nightmare. 

She hadn’t looked up when he’d approached, which gave him pause. She had to have heard him. Maybe she really was injured. He stood there, not knowing what to say. 

“Well met, sister,” he said finally, tightening his grip on the crossbow he held down at his side. 

Languidly she let her arm drop from her face, and her eyes slid sideways to shoot him an irritated look. Drizzt froze. Suddenly he felt faint. 

Maybe she wouldn’t recognize him. A lot of time had passed. He had changed, grown. 

But, of course. His eyes. 

Something flared in her eyes. She slowly sat up straight, scarlet eyes boring into his. He resisted the urge to take a step back, or call for help. 

“Drizzt,” she said. There was no question in the word. She had recognized him the moment she’d seen him. 

“Vierna...” he answered. 

She just stared at him, tilting her head slightly as if she was trying to decide if he was really there. She was squinting in the light. 

“You are...alive,” she said. Then, shaking her head, “You are alive?” 

“It appears so.” 

She frowned at him skeptically. “Or are you a ghost sent to haunt me?” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Do I haunt you, then?” he asked softly. 

It was not a reunion he had ever thought he would have. It was not one he had longed for. But now that she was here, some very strong feeling that he couldn’t quite name stirred inside him. A part of him wanted to go to her, to embrace her. He didn’t. 

“Where have you been?” she said. He couldn’t read her face. He rarely could, when she didn’t want him to. “What happened to you?” 

“Dinin.” 

She didn’t blink. That part did not surprise her. “He left you here? He did not kill you?” That was the strange part. 

Drizzt’s brows pinched together slightly. The memory of that time shouldn’t have still pained him, but it did. “No,” he said. A flare of anger went through him suddenly, as he looked at her. She’d abandoned him. They all had. They were his family. They were supposed to take care of him. He’d been so young. Torrah had shown a thousand times more concern for him than any of them ever had, and he had been a perfect stranger when they’d met. 

“You might have asked him,” he said, not managing to mask the venom in the statement. “Did you even look for me, when I didn’t come back?” 

Her eyebrows went up, and her lips curved up into a small smirk in amusement at his anger. “I did ask him,” she said. “And, no, not really.” 

His memories of Vierna were dim and muddled with time. He had almost imagined that, back then, she’d held some kind of affection for him. But perhaps it was merely that she hadn’t been quite as joyfully cruel as the others. 

“Why have you come here, Vierna?” 

She leaned back against the tree, her smile fading. “House Do’Urden is no more,” she announced. She waited, perhaps expecting some reaction. When Drizzt gave none, she went on. 

“All our family is dead. I was the only one to make it out alive.” She looked away. “And now I have come to the surface to burn myself away in the sun, because I have nothing left to live for and nowhere else to go. Everything we were is nothing. Everything we all worked for, gone. Our name, forgotten. There is nothing left. Except for me.” She glanced up at him. “And you.” She watched him for a second, then gave a snort of disgust. “I am sure you do not care. You never did seem to understand us. I suspect you haven’t gotten any better here.” 

Drizzt, shocked by this news, could not reply at first. He wondered how it had happened. He pictured their deaths, without really meaning to. His mother, his sisters, and his brother. Could they really all have gone? 

He waited to feel something. Some kind of grief for this loss. But nothing came. He could not feel anything for them. He felt only the same emptiness in a deep corner of his soul that he’d felt for his whole life--the hole where his family should have been. But he had not known them, not really. He had not loved them. It made no difference to him whether or not they lived now. 

“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t care.” 

The look she gave him could have melted steel. “And what  _ do  _ you care about? What have you done with your life without us, secondboy? Who is Drizzt Do’Urden now?” 

Drizzt hesitated, then made a gesture towards Crosswell. Vierna’s eyes flickered toward the town, then back to him. 

“You have taken up with the humans?” she said, her lips twisting with disgust and disbelief. 

Drizzt laughed bitterly. “Where else do you think I would have gone? How should a child have survived alone here, without their help?” 

She was looking at him like he was some creature that had just wandered out of a sewer. “You must be more human than drow by now,” she said. 

He shrugged one shoulder, having no argument. That only seemed to infuriate her further. 

“You are a disgrace,” she said, her voice dripping contempt. “I should kill you. It would be a mercy.” 

He watched her warily. Threats were never idle, among drow. 

But then she only waved a hand, as if to shoo him away. “Take yourself away from me. Your presence is as trying as it ever was.” 

She was pitiable, even when she was angry. Sitting there awaiting death was so against her nature that it made him hurt to witness it. “It is not so bad here,” he said tentatively. 

“On the surface?” she scoffed. “Then you do not remember the beauty of Menzoberranzan. I pity you. You have been in this cursed place so long you do not realize how awful it is. There are truly hells more tolerable than this.” 

“It doesn’t have to be that way. I could help you.” 

She gave him a long look, her expression neutral. 

“I cannot be helped,” she said. She gave a smirk that was filled with regret and anguish. “Do you know what happens to a cleric who is forsaken by her goddess? All her power disappears into thin air. Decades of study and worship and devotion for nothing.” 

“There are other gods...” Drizzt said. He would never have said such a thing in Menzoberranzan--but they were not in Menzoberranzan, were they? 

Her lips curled. “Leave me,” she said. 

“Vierna…” 

Suddenly she was on her feet. He saw her arm move, and then something struck him. He gasped in pain, stumbling backward. There was a small throwing knife embedded in his upper arm. Her aim was not off. If she’d wanted to kill him, the knife would be in his throat. 

He heard a shout from behind him. He looked over his shoulder and found Hilla and Tuomas running toward him from a hundred yards back. They would only make things worse. He didn’t want to aggravate her further. Hilla was kneeling to take aim with her crossbow. Drizzt quickly waved them away. He turned to Vierna. Another knife had appeared in her hand. 

Drizzt never raised the crossbow. Reluctantly, he backed away from her. He paused after a few steps. “I will be here if you change your mind,” he said. She stared at him, still holding the knife ready. Drizzt turned away from her and started back toward the town. 

He was halfway back to the guard tower when Tuomas and Hilla reached him, crossbows in hand. 

“Gods, what happened?” Tuomas said. He winced as he looked at the knife in Drizzt’s arm, as if merely setting eyes on it caused him pain. 

“It’s nothing,” Drizzt said. Truly, it wasn’t. Violence was a form of communication almost on par with verbal language or finger code, to the drow. He remembered enough of Menzoberranzan to know not to be too offended. “Leave her. It’s not worth a fight.” 

“Makes no difference now ,” Hilla said. “She’s run off already.” 

Drizzt turned. The shadow Vierna had been lying in was empty. She was gone. The first drow he’d seen in decades, the only connection he’d had to his homeland and to his family in all that time, was gone as quickly as she’d appeared. It hit him like an arrow in the chest, a deep pang of loss and sorrow like he hadn’t felt since that first day on the surface, when he’d realized that Dinin was gone and he was alone. It was happening again. Alone. 

“You alright?” Tuomas asked, his voice gently lowered. Drizzt’s distress must have been showing on his face. The words brought him back to the present, grounded him. He was grateful for Tuomas and Hilla, at that moment. He wasn’t alone. Not like back then. 

“Arm hurts,” Drizzt said. “Let’s get to the healer.” 

“What happened? What did she say?” Hilla said. 

His breath caught a little. “Nothing important. Just some madwoman.” 

———

He returned from a shift several days later in the early morning, before the sun had yet risen. 

He gave a soft sigh as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His arm twinged. There was still a dull pain in his upper arm, where a bandage was wrapped beneath his shirt. 

He hadn’t gotten enough rest the previous day--Torrah had needed him to help pack some things to take to Llangelier the next day, and had gotten him up early in order to finish on time. He was so tired that his eyelids were drooping shut of their own accord. 

Perhaps he could blame his inattentiveness on the lack of rest, but if he was honest with himself, he had to admit that he wouldn’t have been prepared for the attack anyway. 

He turned toward his bed, and stopped. Before he could react, a shadow detached from the wall and came at him. Hands grabbed his shirt and whirled him around. His back hit the wall. He didn’t even have time to struggle before the cold metal of a blade pressed against his throat. 

Vierna’s eyes bored into him. One hand held a fistful of his collar. The other twitched the knife against his skin, enough to draw blood. 

He struggled against her. She was strong. “Vierna—!” 

“Do you see how helpless you are?” she interrupted, her voice oddly calm considering the situation. “How weak? I could kill you right now.” The knife pressed against the artery at the side of his neck. “I could cut you into a million pieces and leave your mutilated corpse here for your human friends to find. How would you like that?” 

He stopped struggling. “Vierna, please—” 

Fury flared in her eyes. She pulled him away from the wall, only to slam him into it again. “ _ Do not beg! _ ” she shouted. “ _ Do’Urdens do not beg! _ ” 

He watched the rage on her face, and began to believe that she would really do it. His life was going to end here, under this knife, by his only living family. 

She stared into his eyes for a long time. Maybe she was praying silently, intending his murder to be a sacrifice that would improve her standing in Lolth’s eyes and perhaps even allow her to cast spells again. Maybe she was just savoring the moment. 

But then, she stepped back, lowering the knife to her side. Her eyes didn’t glow with anger, anymore. She’d had a change of heart, it seemed. He wondered how long it would last. 

He watched her warily, and didn’t move. Vierna turned and took a few steps away from him, arms crossed. It was an insult directed at him, he knew. She’d put her back to him, leaving herself vulnerable, because she knew that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, hurt her. She was right. 

He raised a hand to his neck, and his fingers came away covered in blood. Giving Vierna a hard look, he went to a cabinet in the corner and pulled forth a cloth to press against the wound. Vierna settled herself against a wall and watched him. 

“None of these humans taught you to fight, I see,” she said. “What if I had meant you harm?” 

“You don’t?” 

“My dear brother, if I really meant you harm, you would be dead ten times over already. Clearly.” 

He shook his head, which made the cloth rub uncomfortably on the cut on his neck. “What have I done to make you hate me so?” 

“I do not hate you.” 

It was true, he realized. He was not what she was truly angry at. She had lost everything she’d known, everything she’d cared about. She didn’t know who she was or what meaning her life had anymore. 

Drizzt knew, because he felt at least a little bit the same, and had for his whole life. Lost. 

It was an alarming feeling, that kind of helplessness. The kind that came from within and could not be fixed by overpowering someone else, which was the primary way of solving such problems in Menzoberranzan. Drizzt had dealt with it by finding friends to seek support from. But Vierna had no one else. No one but him. 

She was here because she had nowhere else to go. She was clinging to the only familiar thing she could find on the surface, which was him. But she would never admit that. And he was growing impatient. 

“What do you want from me, Vierna? Why are you still here?” 

“Because you need me.” 

He stared at her. 

“Look at yourself,” she said, waving an arm at him. “You have grown into something pathetic. Defenseless. Like a child.” 

“I am not defenseless.” 

“And what in the world have you done to your hair? It’s so...short.” 

He frowned. “There was too much of it. There’s nothing wrong with it the way it is now.” 

“It is an ugly human fashion,” she said dismissively. “You had beautiful hair, before.” 

“What do you care about my hair?” he said impatiently. 

She smiled unhappily at him. 

“I was not there for you before. So I suppose some part of this is my fault,” she said quietly. It almost felt like an apology. Almost. “But there was always something odd about you,” she continued. “I could tell, even when you were a child. Maybe this is who you were always destined to become.” 

“If I was destined to become different from the rest of you, I consider it a blessing.” 

She squinted at him. “How can you say that?” she said, truly not understanding. 

“Were you happy there? Is that what you wanted for yourself--to spend your life forever looking over your shoulder for someone about to put a knife in your back?” 

“It is our home.” 

“It is not mine.” He paused. “Not yours anymore, either.” 

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” she snapped. She turned away from him, pacing irritably. 

A long-forgotten memory surfaced. Vierna, towering above him, pacing quickly and scowling, not looking at him. She did it when she was frustrated, as if she was trying to work off her anger in the motion. He’d been tense, his heart beating too quickly, as he watched her. He’d hated seeing people angry, because it usually meant something bad was about to happen, usually to him. But she didn’t take her anger out on him the way his other sisters sometimes had. She beat him when he was disobedient, but only then. Efficient and dutiful, but not cruel. Much like training a dog. 

“Perhaps it was a mistake to come here. You are beyond saving,” she muttered, almost to herself. But then she looked at him, and her expression softened very slightly. 

She unbuckled her sword belt. Drizzt watched her suspiciously as she wrapped the loose ends of the belt around the scabbard, then held the bundle out to him. He didn’t take it. 

“It is a gift, fool,” she said, and put it into his hands. She looked down at it for a moment, then spoke, her voice almost a whisper. “There is so little darkness here. You should have some small piece of the Underdark to carry with you in this blazing, forsaken place.” 

“What am I to do with it?” he asked skeptically. He was certainly not going to kill anyone with it, like she probably wanted him to. 

“You are still drow, whether or not you spend your days pretending to be a human. You must remember where you come from and who you are. Who  _ we  _ are. We are the only ones left to remember, now.” Her expression was still hard and flat, but he sensed something almost approaching warmth beneath it. He still could not tell whether she loved or hated him. He doubted even she knew. 

She went to the door and rested a hand on the handle. “Consider this a sign from the spinner of fate. You could have died today. I granted you life, instead. It, too, is a gift. Do not waste it.” 

“Where are you going to go?” he asked her quickly, before she could leave. 

She slipped outside without answering, shutting the door behind her. Drizzt rushed to the door, pulling it open again to look outside. She was already gone, again. 

Frowning, he looked down at the sword in his hand with suspicion, and then tentative awe. It was narrow, light, and curved--a scimitar--with a scabbard of dark leather embossed with precise, complex designs, and a blade of steel folded in a pattern that almost resembled a web, which couldn’t have been unintentional, knowing who had made it. It was an alien piece of artwork, unlike any weapon he’d seen on the surface before. It would have been a significant gift on its own, but it had also left Vierna without a primary weapon of her own, and with no spells to take its place, which made it a level of generosity beyond what he’d thought her capable of. 

There was a nervous stirring in his stomach. Did the fact that she’d given it to him mean that she’d really given up? Was she so despairing that she’d decided to find a way to end her life? 

But, no. He sensed that something had changed since he’d seen her a few days ago. He hoped, but was not egotistical enough to believe, that he had played some part in that. Vierna was simply too stubborn to give up so easily. She would find a way to survive, with or without him. 

“We’ll see each other again,” he assured her, calling softly into the street. He knew she would hear. 

There was no answer. He had not expected one. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I need to put a content warning for alcohol use? There’s (very innocent, non-traumatic) alcohol use in this chapter. FYI.

Drizzt watched the approaching group of humans from his perch in the guard tower, frowning. There were several wagons, with several people with swords walking alongside them. Probably a merchant caravan, he decided. 

He watched their gradual approach from almost a mile off with growing apprehension, until they were nearly at the gate. Tuomas had gone to relieve himself some time before then and was apparently in no hurry to get back. Drizzt sighed. Usually he left the talking to Tuomas. This time, he was going to have to do it himself. 

He leaned against the half-wall of the tower, setting his crossbow in plain view on top of it but pointed away from the caravan. “Well met,” he called to the humans as they neared the tower. 

All of them looked up in unison, not having seen him until that moment. The wagon in front slowed and then stopped. It seemed to take them a few seconds to understand what they were looking at. Perhaps the torchlight from below made it hard to see him in the dark of the tower. Then all of them either ducked for cover or reached for weapons. 

“By the gods, is that a dark elf?” one of them said. 

“The city is under attack!” another gasped under her breath. 

Drizzt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It would have been unprofessional. 

“Calm down,” he said impatiently. “I am the watchman tonight. Please state your names and your business in Crosswell.” He picked up a pen and hovered it over the log book sitting on the table beside him. 

The humans exchanged baffled glances, disarmed by the casual tone of the question. 

“You expect us to believe the town watchman is a dark elf?” said a young man at the front of the caravan. He was one of the ones carrying a sword. A guard.

Drizzt drummed his fingers idly on the back end of the crossbow. “It doesn’t really make a difference to me whether you believe it. I just need your names.” 

They all stared at him. 

The guard in front made a derisive sound. “I’m not going to stand here and explain myself to—” 

“Drizzt?” 

A figure who’d been near the back of the caravan had stepped forward. She pulled back the hood of her cloak, revealing a head of bright red hair. 

His fingers stopped drumming. It had been over ten years since he’d last seen her, but he remembered her as if it had been only a few days past. She looked different now. Grown up. But it was her. 

“Catti-Brie,” he said, stunned. 

She smiled. “Thought you wouldn’t remember me,” she said. 

“How could I forget?” 

She smiled a little wider, then seemed to remember where she was. She gestured to the man driving the wagon at the front of the caravan, who was peering up from the floor where he’d dived for cover. “We’re escorting Aelgar here into town from Clarendon. Got weapons and armor to trade.” 

“I see.” This was the point when he was supposed to open the gate for them. He hesitated. “Will you be in town long?” he said. 

The guard who’d spoken before sighed, impatient. Everyone else in the group seemed too surprised by the exchange to react. Catti-Brie only smiled. 

“For a little while, I’m thinkin’,” she said. 

“Good to know,” he said with a small smirk in her direction. He raised the gate, and watched them pass. The humans kept their eyes on him, suspicious, as they entered the town. Catti-Brie gave him a cheerful wave as she went by. Drizzt watched her until they turned around a corner and left his view. 

There was the sound of a key in the lock of the hatch, and then Tuomas climbed through. He peered after the group. 

“They’re in awful late, eh?” He looked up at Drizzt, and laughed at the look on his face. “What are you grinning about?” 

“Nothing,” Drizzt said, and kept grinning. 

———

He found her the next evening in the Nightingale Tavern, sitting at the bar with some of her fellow caravan guards. When she spotted him in the doorway--and it didn’t take her long to see him, he noticed, almost as if she’d been expecting him--she grinned broadly and gestured for him to come over. She quickly separated herself from her friends and offered him a stool near the corner of the bar. 

“Hoped I’d see you again,” she said, smiling toothily in the loose sort of way that people did when they’d had enough alcohol. 

Drizzt tried to take in all of her at once, without staring too long. She was taller than he was now, and there were tiny wrinkles around her eyes when she smiled. Her shoulders were broad and arms muscled, which he guessed was a result of the bow he’d seen slung over her shoulder before. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. 

“What a stroke of luck, finding you here,” he said, as if he hadn’t been asking all around town to see where she’d gone. 

“Indeed.” Her accent was softer than he remembered, and seemed to come and go as if she was making a conscious effort to suppress it. She cocked her head at him, looking him up and down. “You look different than I remember. Older. I kind of wondered if you’d look the same as when we were kids.” 

He shook his head, a little embarrassed by the suggestion. “Elves age slowly, but not that slowly.” 

She smiled. He wondered if she realized how she was staring at him. It wasn’t the type of stare he usually received. 

“I like your hair like this,” she said. 

A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. He’d grown it out. When Torrah had asked him about it, he’d said he’d merely felt like a change, without going further into it. 

“Thank you,” he said. “I grew it myself, you know.” Catti-Brie smiled even though it was barely a joke. 

At long last she turned away from him, as if she’d suddenly noticed the tension in the air between them. She took a long swig of her drink, then sighed. “Beer here is terrible,” she muttered, looking discontentedly into her glass. She looked like she’d already had quite a few, so Drizzt couldn’t help thinking that it must not have been all bad. 

“Is it? I wouldn’t know.” 

She looked up at him, confused. “You trying to tell me you don’t drink?” she asked. 

“Not here at the Nightingale,” he said evasively. 

She looked at him. 

“Not anywhere else, either,” he admitted under her scrutiny. “It’s not a rule,” he added, a little defensive at the disapproval in her voice. “I just don’t often have reason to.” 

She stared at him for a moment, brow furrowed, then turned to gesture to the bartender. A few moments later, another glass appeared on the counter beside them. Catti-Brie pushed it over to Drizzt. He picked it up, giving the gold-brown liquid an uncertain glance, and took a sip. 

She’d left the clan behind some years ago--not forever, she clarified quickly, but long enough to find her own way in the world. She worked, essentially, as a mercenary, though she told him that she disliked that word. She’d been with her current employer for a few weeks. 

They talked for a long time. Conversation came easily. Drizzt had guessed there would be some awkwardness upon meeting again--that neither of them would know quite what to say, having only known each other for two days many years ago. But on the contrary, it was like meeting with a good friend, as if it had been only days since they’d spoken and not years. Suddenly, after they started talking, everything he’d been nervous about before meeting her had gone away. 

“Would you believe I saw one of those little yellow flowers on my way here?” she said. “Reminded me of the last time I was here. Would’ve gone and got it if I weren’t stuck with the caravan.” 

“Oh,” Drizzt said with a small smile, looking down at his empty glass. “I, uh, don’t do that anymore.” 

“Ah. You’ve taken up more honest work.” 

He stiffened, defensive, more for Torrah’s sake than his own. He had seen how people around town treated Torrah because of his involvement with the semi-legal drug trade. This was not the first time Drizzt had had to defend him from derogatory comments, and it wouldn’t be the last. “I wouldn’t call it dishonest.” 

Catti-Brie’s mirthful expression cooled into worry. “Meant no offense, of course,” she said. She thought for a moment, planning her words more carefully. “You’ve outgrown the work. It’s the same for me. We can’t always follow the paths our families lay out for us.” 

Drizzt ran his finger slowly along the rim of his glass. “I think he might have preferred it if I had.” 

“Why’s that?” 

He paused, looking at her sidelong. It was a personal topic, one that he didn’t bring up with other people, not even Tuomas and Hilla. But something made him want to tell her. She was the type of person who had that effect. You trusted her immediately upon meeting her. You wanted to confide in her. She was too quick to smile, and those smiles were too genuine, for anyone to think she’d turn a secret against you. 

“He does not have any other children,” he said. “And he spent many years of his life taking care of me. When he dies, no one will take over his trade. The things he spent his life on will be gone, as if they’d never existed.” He looked down, pained as he always was by the inevitability of the short lives of the humans around him. “Maybe he regrets not having had a real family of his own. And maybe he is wondering whether he could have done more with his life. Maybe he wishes he hadn’t spent so much of it raising a lost drow who doesn’t even take an interest in what he does.” 

Catti-Brie frowned, equally pained. She was quiet for some time. “I’m sure he doesn’t feel that way,” she murmured eventually. “Though, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had the same thought about myself and me dad, from time to time.” 

She shook her head. “It’s foolishness. You and I both know it,” she said. She swayed a little, her eyes slightly glazed in an alcohol-driven daze, but she spoke with clarity and insight he knew to be true. 

She took another drink, and sighed. “We all disappoint our parents at some point, don’t we? I’m no miner, nor a smith, nor any kind of respectable princess.” 

“Princess?” 

“Oh.” Her brow wrinkled a little. Drizzt got the impression that she’d revealed more than she’d meant to. “I...sort of am one. Did I not mention it?” 

“Princess of the dwarves?” he confirmed again, trying to decide whether she was joking. 

“Not like that--you’re making it sound so dramatic.” 

Drizzt imagined her wearing a crown and a fluffy gown, and laughed. 

“What’s so funny?” 

He buried his face in his hands, still laughing. 

“Well ye don’t have to laugh _that_ much,” she said, feigning annoyance. 

“I’m sorry. It’s the drink. I don’t usually…” 

“Lightweight,” she said. “So. What _are_ you doing these days? You’re with the town watch?” 

He nodded. “For a few years now.” 

“What’s that like?” 

He shrugged. “It isn’t bad.” 

Catti-Brie raised an eyebrow, resting her elbow on the counter. “Isn’t bad, huh?” 

“There is not much trouble in a town like this, so we don’t have much to do.”

“You ever think of leaving?” 

“Leaving?” 

“ _Leaving town_ ,” she said. “To go somewhere new. See the world. You don’t have to be staying in one place forever, if there’s nothing for you here.” 

He frowned. “I...have thought about it,” he said. “But it is not so easy, for someone with my complexion…” 

Her smile faltered. 

Then she leaned closer to him. “What if you weren’t alone?” 

He raised his eyebrows, thinking she couldn’t mean what he thought she did. 

“You can come with us, with the caravan,” she went on excitedly. “One of the other guards is leaving and we’re needing someone to replace him. You’ve got experience, working with the watch. You can fight, can’t you? Good enough to escort some fat merchants and their horses from town to town.” 

His lips curved into a surprised smile at her sudden enthusiasm. But, he couldn’t get too excited. There were practical concerns that ruined the idea. 

“I can fight with a crossbow,” he said, “which is only any good when you’ve got a tower to sit in and shoot from.” 

“Can’t ye use a sword?” 

He shook his head. He had tried, a little, with the sword Vierna had given him. He really had. But with no one to show him how to use it, he had felt more like a child playing games than anything else. 

Catti-Brie glanced over her shoulder, at the other end of the bar, as if afraid of being overheard, but no one was there. It was late by then, and her companions had left long ago. She turned back to him, grinning conspiratorially. Seemingly without thinking of it, she dropped a hand down over his on the counter. Drizzt glanced down at the hand, then back up at her. 

“The thing is,” she whispered, slurring a little, “ye really don’t have to know how to fight. Just have to be able to make a show of being able to, to scare off any highwaymen who might think to try something.” She raised her eyebrows. “Do you think you could manage that? Scarin’ people?” 

He gave a reluctant smile. He did have a remarkable talent for that, whether he liked it or not. “I suppose…” 

She slapped her hand down on the counter, drawing a few glances from the other patrons nearby. “There ye go,” she said, as if the business was settled. “And in the meantime, I could teach you to actually fight.” She sat back, looking pleased with her plan. 

Drizzt shook his head in disbelief, and smiled down at his glass. 

“What?” Catti-Brie demanded, challenging him to disagree with her. 

“You would really go to all that trouble for me? Why?” 

She just smiled at him for a moment. “Because I like you,” she said. 

Another hour and another couple drinks later, the bartender announced that the tavern was closing. 

As they got up to leave, Catti-Brie stumbled, and caught herself on a stool. She cackled in amusement at her own misstep, which in turn nearly caused her to fall again. Drizzt held her arm to keep her from teetering over. 

“I think you’re a bit drunk,” he observed. 

She waved a hand. “ ‘ts nothin’,” she said. “We dwarves hold our alcohol better ‘n other folk.” 

“I see that.” 

She leaned on his arm as they walked back to the inn where she was staying. They tried to continue their conversation, but she kept laughing. Drizzt couldn’t help but laugh along with her, though nothing in particular was funny except for Catti-Brie herself. 

“I don’t normally get this drunk,” she conceded after a while, in a moment of clarity. 

“It’s alright,” he said. 

They found her room in the inn, and she slid off his arm and onto the bed with a heavy sigh. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. Her eyes were already closed. Drizzt watched her for a few moments as she stilled. Her bright hair was spread in a fan around her head, her cheek pressed against the pillow. Her breathing slowed, as if she’d started falling asleep the instant she’d sprawled on the bed. 

Suddenly he was very aware that he shouldn’t be there. He liked looking at her like this too much. Being there, in her private room, as she was about to fall into deep sleep, felt almost painfully intimate. 

“Good night,” he said when she didn’t move. 

She lifted a hand and waved in lieu of answering--more of a flop than a wave, really. 

He went to leave, but paused in the doorway and turned back to her. “Catti-Brie...were you serious about…?” He stopped when she gave a soft snore. He smiled, amused, and gave her one last lingering look before he left. 

———

He was more than a little surprised when Catti-Brie found him the next day and told him that she’d convinced her employer to hire him on. Either the man was tremendously open-minded, or Catti-Brie had the persuasive gusto of a used carriage salesman. 

He didn’t suppose that the watch captain would appreciate him leaving without notice for the several weeks it would take to get to the city and back. Therefore, he didn’t tell the watch captain he was leaving. Instead, he begged Tuomas to cover for him. The man had been reluctant at first, until Drizzt had explained to him that Catti-Brie was going to be along with him. 

“Gods, _fine_ ,” Tuomas relented, after some irritated grumbling. “I’m not going to be the heartless bastard who keeps you away from your childhood sweetheart.” 

They set off toward Neverwinter that same day. Drizzt took--borrowed, that is--a sword from the town watch’s armory and divested himself of his blue Crosswell tabard, leaving his bare chainmail beneath. As much as he would have liked to bring Vierna’s scimitar with him, the enchanted Underdark steel wouldn’t last in the sunlight. He’d learned that the hard way after some of the clothes he’d brought with him to the surface had mysteriously begun dissolving in the weeks following his arrival to the sunlit world. The only reason the sword was still in one piece was because he’d locked it in a trunk and left it there. 

The other members of the caravan uniformly regarded him with suspicious eyes and dirty looks when he arrived. He didn’t mind, because Catti-Brie was still smiling at him. 

Their employer was Aelgar, a weapons merchant--a rather nervous middle-aged human whom Catti-Brie had been accurate in describing as ‘fat’. When Drizzt had first arrived, the man had greeted him with a distant curiosity more than mistrust, and had asked a few conversational questions that Drizzt had answered while trying to keep any nervous tics from showing. 

Catti-Brie, it turned out, had strongly implied to Aelgar that Drizzt not only knew how to use a sword, but was in fact a skilled warrior of some renown--and that he was available for such a low fee due to his unfortunate heritage. To Drizzt’s mixed relief and distress, the man seemed to have little difficulty believing any of this. That would be fine until they actually got into some kind of trouble, in which case Drizzt would be quickly revealed as the imposter he was. 

There were a few other merchants with the caravan, plus their employees, and two other guards. There was Huldra, a stony-faced blonde dwarf woman wearing a lot of armor and carrying a heavy-looking hammer strapped across her back. And then there was Artemis, the young human man who’d questioned Drizzt back at the gate to Crosswell. He was small for a human, with dark, lank hair that hung to his chin, and carried a sword on one hip and a knife on the other. Artemis in particular seemed irritated by Drizzt’s presence. Drizzt opted to keep his distance from him. 

He watched the other members of the caravan as they traveled, interested by the ways they chose to interact. When Catti-Brie wasn’t walking with Drizzt or by herself, she was talking with Huldra, who seemed quite surly at any other time. It seemed that the two had been working together for some time by then, and had become friendly. The merchants and their employees kept to their own, only turning to the guards to issue orders or discuss plans for their course. Artemis walked by himself, always, and frequently seemed angry for no reason that Drizzt could see. Catti-Brie said that she’d seen him take on four opponents on his own and win, which was probably why everyone else tolerated his poor temperament. 

On the first night, there was some argument among the four guards about how the night watch shifts should work now that Drizzt was there. Normally they would all trade off duties equally--two people each night, one person for the first half of the night and one for the later half. Catti-Brie suggested that Drizzt take shifts every night, which he didn’t mind. As the only elf present, his vision was better than any of theirs and he needed less rest than the rest of them. It was the same logic that had made him a prime candidate for the night watch in Crosswell. 

“I am not sleeping with an unsupervised drow standing over me,” Artemis interjected flatly, turning all their heads in his direction. 

Huldra and Catti-Brie argued with him at length, both unhappy at the prospect of losing extra sleep. 

“If ye don’t like it then _ye’re_ takin’ his shifts,” Huldra huffed finally. “The rest of us shouldn’t be sufferin’ ‘cause o’ yer own weak nerves.” 

Artemis only shrugged. 

Drizzt, who had silently watched the entire discussion play out, accepted the decision without comment. 

Whenever the caravan stopped to rest, Catti-Brie pulled Drizzt away from the others and gave him a lesson on swordsmanship. He’d been self-conscious and very unsure of himself, that first time, and he was sure it was obvious. Catti-Brie had very kindly encouraged him, assuring him that she didn’t expect him to turn into a master swordsman overnight. No one would expect that of someone with no experience, of course. 

But the more he practiced, the more the sword felt like a limb he’d forgotten he’d had. Like an extension of his own arm. Like it was supposed to have been there all his life. 

He began to see and react to Catti-Brie’s movements before she even made them. Reading her intentions became like reading a book. Thrusts and steps and turns in all sorts of combinations came in predictable patterns, arising again and again, a language of movements that he understood more fluently every day. He dreamed about them during his reveries, and saw them when he closed his eyes. 

After a week, he was beating Catti-Brie in more than half of their fights. 

“You don’t have to keep going easy on me,” he said to her one day, after knocking her to the ground for the second time in a row. She only glared sullenly at him in response, brushing dirt from her trousers as she got to her feet. 

After that first week, he began sparring with Huldra and Artemis, as well. Sometimes they got the better of him. Sometimes they didn’t. His body moved faster than any of theirs did. His reflexes were quicker. Even without the experience they all had, he always seemed to have an edge over them. 

“You say you’ve never used a sword before?” Catti-Brie said, raising an eyebrow as she watched him. He was practicing without an opponent that day. The others always grew bored of sparring far before he did. So he would battle imaginary opponents until a real one would humor him with a fight. 

“I have not,” he said, tossing the sword up in the air and letting it spin before catching it in the same hand. 

She stared at him. 

He paused, lowering the sword to his side. “Shall I take it as a compliment that you don’t believe me?” 

“Just don’t take up archery, as well,” she sighed, giving him a dry smile. “Let me have that, at least.” 

“I can’t feel guilty about it,” he said apologetically. “I’ve been capable enough at many things before, but I’ve never been great at something. Not like this.” 

“I don’t begrudge you your success,” she said. “I suppose I’m just not as good a swordswoman as I thought.” 

He gave her a sideways smirk. “Perhaps you should practice with me, then.” 

“In a bit. I’m still tired from earlier.” 

He came and sat beside her. As he rested, he contemplated the sword in his hand. 

He looked up at Catti-Brie suddenly. “Do you have another one?” he asked. 

“Hm?” 

“Another sword.” 

She squinted at the sword in his hand. “Something wrong with that one?” 

“No. I want two.” 

“Two swords?” 

He nodded. 

“What do you need two for?” 

He shrugged, and raised his hands demonstratively. “I’ve got two hands, haven’t I?” 

She laughed. “You’re being ridiculous. Nobody uses two swords at once. Your hands will get all tangled up in themselves.” 

He paused, considering. “No,” he decided. “I don’t think so.” 

“You’re an expert now?” 

He shrugged, smiling. “Well…” 

Restless, he got up again and strode into the middle of the clearing, where he idly tossed the sword from hand to hand. When that began to feel too easy, he flipped it up in the air, and caught it again when it came back down. 

“You’re going to lose a finger doing that,” Catti-Brie commented. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Get a bad cut, at least.” 

He shrugged. “Better to have it happen during practice than in a fight, where the consequences would be much worse.” 

She snorted. “And when are you going to be needing to flip your sword around like that during a fight?” 

“When I want to show off.” 

“Like you’re showing off for me, right now?” 

He pressed his lips together to hide an embarrassed smile. After a moment’s thought, he sheathed the sword. 

“You won’t be so excited about fighting the first time you have to do it for real,” Catti-Brie warned him. 

He didn’t disagree. He very much enjoyed the sparring, but he was not eager for the real, life-or-death version. He had no interest in hurting anyone, and he certainly didn’t want to be the one getting hurt, either. 

”I would say you sound like my mother,” he said, “but I don’t think she ever said anything like that.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Thought you didn’t know your mother,” she said, curious. 

He thought for a moment, his smile fading. “I didn’t, really. It’s a bit complicated.” He looked up, suddenly remembering what Vierna had told him, several years past. “I heard that she is dead now.” 

Catti-Brie’s eyebrows went up higher. “Oh.” She watched his face, searching him to find out what reaction he expected from her. “I’m sorry,” she said finally. 

He shrugged. “Drow die all the time. Usually before they have reached old age. Usually by each other’s hands. It is a way of life, below ground. It was not unexpected.” 

“So you didn’t feel any sadness, hearing about it?” she asked, skeptical. “Not even a little?” 

He hesitated. He wanted to say no. It was true, for the most part. But while part of that was out of genuine indifference--he’d barely known any of them, after all, except for Vierna--part of it was out of lingering anger at them for what they’d done to him. That feeling of betrayal would never go away. He almost felt vindicated by their deaths. They’d gotten what they deserved. 

But the news had left him with an odd sense of emptiness. Some connection to some part of his past had been severed, and he felt the loss--even if he wasn’t certain what it was he had lost. Even if what he felt he’d lost was something that had never been there in the first place. 

There was a lingering bitter taste in his mouth, over things he’d never had, and things he never could have. A loving mother--the kind he saw in town smiling as they kissed their children. A culture that was his own, and not something he’d been brought into as a foreigner. A normal life, among people who looked like him, who understood him, who didn’t stare or put hands on their weapons when they saw him. 

He had not been deprived as a result of leaving the Underdark. He had Torrah. He would not have traded lives with Dinin or anyone else in Menzoberranzan. But that sense that something was missing was still there. 

“My family abandoned me,” he said to Catti-Brie. “They believed I would die, and they didn’t care enough to do anything about it. I feel nothing for them.” 

“But you still think about them, don’t you?” she said quietly, squinting at him. “You still wonder who they really were. You still wonder who you might have been, if things had gone differently.” 

He watched her, wondering how he’d guessed all of his feelings so accurately. 

She gave him a rueful smile. “I’ve wondered all those things about myself and my parents, too,” she said, answering the unasked question. 

She got to her feet suddenly. “Ah! I’ve lost track of time. Lunch must be over by now. We should get back to the caravan. They’re probably waiting for us.” 

When they got back to the road, the entire caravan was, indeed, standing around impatiently and looked like they’d been waiting. Aelgar, seated in the wagon at the front of the caravan, craned around to look at them as they arrived. He frowned. 

“The two of you are spending a lot of time away from the caravan. I am paying you to guard the wagons, yes? Not to canoodle in the woods.” 

Drizzt’s face flushed. Catti-Brie’s didn’t. No one seemed to notice, anyway. 

“Of course, sir,” Catti-Brie said. “My apologies. We were discussing possible routes to Neverwinter after the Willow Lake fork, and time got away from us. It won’t happen again.” 

Aelgar pressed his lips together, and gave his reins a flick to urge his horses onward. 

———

It was Catti-Brie’s turn to keep watch that night, which meant that Drizzt had opted to stay awake beside her. They had plenty of time to talk on the road, as well--but something about the dark and quiet, and it being just them while everyone else was asleep, made Drizzt cherish these nights. 

She leaned against one of the wagons, arms crossed, bow hung over her shoulder and her sword on her hip, and gave him an unimpressed look. He was doing his best impression of Huldra’s sharp voice and strong accent. He had taken it upon himself to entertain her during the long, quiet night shifts. He especially enjoyed watching her try to hold back laughter. More often he accomplished it by making a fool of himself than through actual comedy, which was fine with him. 

“You’re not funny,” she said. 

“And yet it still made you laugh.” He thought for a moment. “Alright--who’s this?” 

He brushed his hair down in front of his face, half over his eyes, and then shuffled a few steps away from her in a slow, slouching lope that, he thought, was quite a spot-on impression of Artemis. He slowly turned to glance over his shoulder at Catti-Brie, giving a withering frown and then an exaggerated roll of his eyes. 

Catti-Brie looked down, covering her face with a hand. Her shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Be quiet, you’ll wake Huldra,” she hissed at him. They’d gotten an earful from the dwarf the last time Catti-Brie had been on watch, when they hadn’t been careful enough about keeping their voices to whispers. 

He pushed his hair back behind his ears. “You’re the one laughing!” he said, grinning in amusement at her predicament. 

“Stop making me laugh, then!” 

He paused. “Wait. I’ve got another one.” He turned away from her, as if preparing himself. When he turned back, he jutted one hip out to the side, tossed his hair, and batted his eyelashes at her. 

“Who’s that supposed to be?” 

“You, of course.” 

She rolled her eyes. 

“It’s not very good,” he admitted. “I don’t know how to look like a beautiful woman.” 

“Ah, but surely you can do a better Catti-Brie than that?” 

She was right. She was beautiful, and a woman, but those were hardly the most interesting things about her. 

He put on a fierce face, then put a hand across his hip, and raised it in front of him again, as if drawing forth an imaginary sword. “Best be keepin’ yer arms in, ye durned fool drow, if ye’re not wantin’ a sword through the ribs!” 

Now she smiled, more amused by this version of herself than the previous one. “I haven’t talked like that in years,” she protested. 

“You still do, when you’ve had enough to drink,” Drizzt said, coming to sit on the edge of the wagon with her. 

The campfire cast a dim amber light on her face. Each time the light flickered, it lit her face in a slightly different way, highlighting an angle in her nose that he hadn’t noticed before, or shadowing her cheeks in a way that made her look suddenly softer or sharper. It was oddly mesmerizing, and he lost himself in studying the details of her face for a time as she gazed into the fire. 

She looked up at him, and smiled again. Smiles came so easily to her. 

Folding her arms as if to ward off the cold, she inched a little closer to him, so that they were touching. Something warm welled up deep inside him. Suddenly he could hardly feel the cold at all. 

Emboldened, he raised an arm, before his nerves could get the better of him. He was about to curl it around her shoulders when he caught sight of something in the forest beyond the road. There was a glimpse, just for a moment, of a dark figure, a hint of a face, a flash of long, pale hair, and then it was gone. Drizzt froze, staring. 

“What is it?” Catti-Brie said, frowning. She followed his gaze into the trees. 

“Nothing,” he said quickly, still looking into the shadows in the trees. He saw nothing now, but he knew he hadn’t imagined it. “It’s nothing. Wait here. Please.” 

Catti-Brie gave him a skeptical look, but stayed where she was as Drizzt went into the woods. 

He slowed as he crossed the line where the trees met the road, into the darkness within darkness that was a forest on a moonless night, and let his eyes adjust to the low light. He drew his sword after he was far enough away from the road that Catti-Brie wouldn’t see. This was not her fight. He didn’t want her or the others to get involved. 

He half expected to find a dart or a knife flying at him--it would probably be the last thing he saw, if that did happen. But there was nothing. He waited for a long time, tense. Leaves shifted minutely in the breeze. No one revealed themselves, which was arguably a good thing. Drizzt began to relax. 

It occurred to him that the person, whoever it was, could be trying to reach him for help, rather than for nefarious purposes. 

“Are you in need of aid?” he asked the woods, in drow. The language felt awkward and unfamiliar in his mouth, even though he tried to speak it with Torrah whenever he could, to keep himself from forgetting it. He watched the numerous bushes and stones and tree trunks that a person could hide behind. If his unknown visitor had recently arrived on the surface, they could be levitating in the treetops, as well. He scanned the branches above him, his hand flexing on the grip of his sword. 

No one answered. Drizzt slowly sheathed his sword. 

“Don’t make any trouble,” he said, not quite a request, and not quite a threat. He had slipped into his authoritative watchman persona without intending to. He was so used to doing so that it came naturally, even in this strange context. 

He turned to walk back to the road, his movements stiff with nerves. If they were going to attack him, they would do it now, when his back was turned. 

He walked all the way back to the camp. Catti-Brie watched him reappear at the outskirts of the firelight, a questioning look on her face. Drizzt exhaled softly. The fact that he’d made it back unharmed reassured him that whoever it was was probably not up to anything. It had been a risk, testing them that way, but at least now he knew. 

He had a guess about who it had been, but tried not to entertain the thought too much. He could drive himself crazy wondering about it. 

———

Usually, Drizzt would lie in a bed as he began the reverie, the same as any human would when going to sleep. But during their travels, he usually opted to sit with his back against a tree at the edge of the road, where he could see the entire caravan. He did not need to fully close his eyes during the task, nor did he ever completely lose consciousness the way humans did when they slept--so, even though someone else was keeping watch for the night, he felt a little more secure knowing that he could be quickly drawn from the reverie if his dozing eyes saw anything awry. 

And so it was that, one night, he was drawn from the midst of a dream when he became aware of movement in front of him. 

He blinked, opening his eyes a little wider as he focused on the moving shape. It was Artemis, who was on watch that night--as he was many nights, due to his unwillingness to have Drizzt take any of his shifts. He was moving very slowly, softly, trying not to wake anyone. He climbed carefully into one of the wagons and disappeared inside. Drizzt stared after him. 

After a while, Artemis emerged from the wagon again, resting one foot on the ground, and then the other--toe first, and then heel, careful not to make any sound nor to cause the wagon to shake as he moved his weight off of it. He gave a soft sigh, and ran a hand through his hair, as if thinking. Then he looked up suddenly, directly at Drizzt. 

Drizzt stared at the road, his eyes glazed and half-lidded, and kept very still, as if still in the grasp of the reverie. Artemis scowled at him for a long time before turning away again. Drizzt watched him go to one of the horse’s saddlebags and begin digging through it. He seemed not to find whatever he was looking for, and moved on to the next bag. The search went on for some time. Every once in a while, Artemis shot a suspicious glance in Drizzt’s direction. 

After a time, he seemed to lose patience with his search. He stood beside the fire, warming his hands against the flames, and Drizzt thought that that would be the end of his strange activities for the night--but then he turned and walked toward Drizzt. 

Drizzt stiffened. Artemis’s footsteps made no sound. He stopped in front of Drizzt, watching him closely. Drizzt remained perfectly still, a difficult task when Artemis’s posture suggested that he was considering stabbing him. 

“I know what you’re doing,” Artemis said in a chill voice, softly so as not to wake the others. “Stop it.” 

Drizzt hesitated, then flicked his eyes up to the man. There were dark circles around his bloodshot eyes. He was not getting nearly enough sleep. 

“I am surprised a human can tell the difference between a fake reverie and a real one,” Drizzt admitted. 

“You start drooling when you’re actually doing it,” Artemis said. Drizzt wondered briefly whether that was true before deciding that he was only trying to rile him.

“You’re a thief,” Drizzt said calmly, taking careful note of the sword and knife that rested, sheathed, on Artemis’s hips. 

Artemis shifted his weight slowly from foot to foot, watching him. “Is it thievery to steal from a thief?” he said. “It happens that Aelgar has in his possession something which does not belong to him. I’m going to get it back.” 

Drizzt frowned, skeptical. “Something of yours?” 

Artemis cocked his head at Drizzt, looking impatient and bored. 

“Something someone else hired you to get,” Drizzt amended. 

“Does it matter?” 

“Yes,” Drizzt said with a disbelieving laugh. “Of course it does.” 

Artemis frowned down at him. 

“That’s why you’re really here?” Drizzt said. “Someone hired you to find Aelgar and get this thing from him? Are you even a real mercenary?” 

“A man can have two jobs,” Artemis said. “I am being paid to protect the caravan, and that’s what I’m doing. If you had been with us longer than a week then you would know that I’ve been with the caravan for the past month, and have defended it--putting my own life at risk--on multiple occasions.” 

Drizzt gave a wry smile. “You’re protecting the caravan from everyone but yourself, then?” 

Artemis looked at him for a long moment. His tight posture seemed to relax a tiny bit, and Drizzt silently congratulated himself on managing to put the difficult man at ease, however little. 

“Perhaps,” Artemis admitted. He glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping caravan behind him. Aelgar’s tent was not far away, next to the fire, and Catti-Brie’s was just on the other side of his. Everyone, even the horses, were silent. “I cannot simply demand that he hand over this item. It is a delicate situation and some subtlety is required. This is the best way. There will be no fight over it, no bloodshed--and he will hardly miss it when it’s gone, anyway.” 

Drizzt remained highly unconvinced, and was not inclined to sit back and let Artemis rifle through the caravan’s goods as he pleased. But he did not like the alternative--having a confrontation with him about it. 

“I know we do not know each other well,” Artemis said. “You have no reason to do me any favors. But I must ask you to trust me and not mention this to the others.” 

There was something in his voice that gave Drizzt pause. He’d never seen him look earnest the way he did now. There was a crack in the angry shell covering him, and Drizzt could almost see through to the man beneath. Against his better judgement, he found himself feeling a little sympathy for him. Even after little over a week, Drizzt felt a kinship with his fellow guards, and he was reluctant to stir up conflict with them. 

He did not suppose that helping people steal from his employer fell within the purview of his duties. But if what Artemis said was true, Aelgar had no more rightful claim upon the thing then Artemis did. 

“What are you going to do after you get this...thing?” Drizzt asked. 

“Leave,” Artemis said simply. “I do not want more trouble than is necessary.” 

“Then get this thing you’re looking for, and leave,” Drizzt agreed. 

Artemis gave a small nod. The corners of his lips twitched up into an almost-smile--an expression that looked highly unnatural on him. 


	6. Chapter 6

There was something about the air the next night that drew Drizzt out of his reverie. A too-quietness, a sharpness to the breeze, a hollowness to the usually rich darkness. Something from the outside world had crept into his dreams. 

He shifted slightly in annoyance as he rubbed his eyes and peered around the campsite, not expecting to find anything wrong. It was not the first time he’d awoken in such a state. It was always nothing--just his own nerves. Being on the road for the first time had put him on edge. 

But his grogginess quickly faded and was replaced with alert unease. Something was off. It was too quiet, and too dark. The fire at the center of the camp had burned low and nearly gone out. There were no torches or lanterns lighting the camp, which there should have been. 

Artemis was supposed to be on watch. Drizzt did not see him anywhere. His unease deepened, churning in the pit of his stomach. Very quietly, he climbed to his feet. There was no movement from anywhere around him. 

He crept across the camp, to the other side of the wagons where most of the tents were set up. He went to Catti-Brie’s tent, and gently pushed the front flap aside to glance inside. He was surprised at how much relief he felt upon seeing her curled on her side and breathing slowly, still asleep. 

There was a tiny sound behind him, and he turned, letting the flap drop. There was a small movement in Aelgar’s tent, a section of the canvas pushed outward by someone bumping it from the inside. Then it was gone again, and everything was still. 

Heart pounding now, he padded across the road to the other tent, his footsteps silent on the soft dirt. His sword was in his hand, though he didn’t really remember having drawn it. He threw aside the door-flap. 

A dark figure crouched inside, facing away from him. It loomed over Aelgar, who was still sound asleep. 

A knife glinted in the figure’s hand. 

“Artemis!” Drizzt shouted. 

Artemis stopped, caught by surprise, and looked up at the tent entrance. Then he whirled back to the prone man and raised the knife, meaning to drive it into Aelgar’s chest before Drizzt could stop him. 

Drizzt leapt forward and thrust his sword at Artemis, forcing the man to abandon his attack in order to slither out of the way. Drizzt darted a step forward, reached out, and grabbed hold of Artemis’s collar, pulling him forward and throwing him out of the tent. 

Artemis stumbled but didn’t quite fall. Once outside the tent, his sword was up and on the attack faster than Drizzt would have thought possible, and suddenly Drizzt was on the defensive. 

There was a confused and alarmed sound from the now very awake merchant behind him. Drizzt ignored him, his attention fully on Artemis. It was all he could do to keep just out of reach of the sword and the knife in Artemis’s off hand, which both jabbed and swiped at him from all angles, too fast for him to work in a counterattack. While he blocked Artemis’s sword, the knife darted in and glanced off armor, searching for an unprotected bit of flesh. 

It was nothing like their practice fights before, when Artemis’s movements had been slower and less finely controlled. After a few seconds of this, Drizzt began to realize that Artemis’s dominance in the fight was not mere luck. He’d beaten Artemis plenty of times when they’d sparred--because Artemis had let him. 

Artemis had been testing him all along. Watching how he fought, looking for his weak spots, and letting him gain confidence, because he’d known this fight might occur. 

“Why are you doing this?” Drizzt said, hopping back a step to keep out of his reach. “Who are you?” 

Artemis answered with a grin and another sharp feint, reversal, and stab. Drizzt thrust his sword out to block--in the wrong direction. Artemis’s knife dug into his thigh before he managed to twist aside. 

He staggered back, gasping. Piercing pain shot through his leg when he put weight on it. He didn’t have time to look down and see how bad the wound was. Artemis was still pressing in, and Drizzt’s movements were growing slower and wilder with desperation. 

He thought of Catti-Brie’s words suddenly.  _ You won’t be so excited about fighting the first time you have to do it for real _ . He felt it, then: terror. The fight had been over before it had begun. He was outmatched. He was going to lose. And then he was going to die. 

The instinct to use his innate magic came without conscious thought. As Artemis reached out to stab at him again, blue-violet fire flared on the man’s sleeve, and flowed quickly up his outstretched arm. Artemis’s eyes darted from Drizzt to the fire, and widened in alarm. He faltered mid-step. Drizzt, who had already stepped back to dodge again, took the opportunity to kick him hard in the stomach. 

Artemis hit the ground on his back. Drizzt heard the soft  _ whump _ of the wind being knocked from his lungs. Artemis tried to raise his weapons in defense even before he tried to get up, but Drizzt’s sword was already at his throat. 

“Stop!” Drizzt shouted, breathing hard. “Stop this.” 

Artemis stared up at him, surprised by the sudden end of the fight. Then his expression slowly melted into a look of hard, honed hatred, all of it directed squarely into Drizzt’s eyes. 

Now that every bit of his attention wasn’t taken up with trying to keep himself alive, his senses broadened again, no longer tunnel-visioned at only Artemis. He became aware of movement from all around him. Everyone was awake now. 

“Finish it, then,” Artemis said, drawing Drizzt’s attention back to him. Drizzt stared at him. The man’s voice had been low but clear. He maintained his stiff glare, looking entirely unafraid of what he’d just suggested. 

“What is all this?” Catti-Brie had appeared beside him, looking from him to Artemis and back. Artemis rolled his eyes and laid back to stare at the sky. Catti-Brie looked down at Drizzt’s leg. “You’re hurt.” 

Drizzt spared a glance down at himself for the first time. It had been a deep stab, and there was an alarming amount of blood that probably needed to be attended to sooner rather than later. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Artemis shifting slightly. Drizzt glared down at him, and pressed his sword a little closer against his neck. 

“What happened?” Huldra demanded. She was standing a careful distance away, huge hammer in her hands. She’d braided her hair before sleeping, and now it was askew and half falling out on the side. She watched Drizzt and Artemis with narrowed eyes. Several of the other caravaners stood behind her. The rest stood near Aelgar, who was brushing himself off and straightening his nightclothes with quick, flustered hands. 

“The snake tried to off me as I slept,” Aelgar burst out in an outraged huff. 

Everyone looked at Drizzt. Drizzt glanced up at Aelgar nervously. It had not occurred to him until then that it may have been too dark for him to understand what was happening in the tent. 

“The snake on the ground,” Aelgar clarified impatiently. 

“Fer the gods’ sake,” Huldra sighed, her voice like gravel. She upturned her hammer and leaned on it, looking tired. Drizzt was impressed with how unfazed she looked. Apparently this was not the strangest thing she’d seen in her many years as a mercenary. 

“Why would you do this?” Drizzt said to Artemis. His voice sounded disappointed--hurt, even--and he hadn’t quite realized that he’d felt those things until he heard himself speak. 

“I won’t answer stupid questions,” Artemis said, his voice much calmer than Drizzt’s would have been, if their positions were reversed. His eyes flicked toward Aelgar. “He knows why.” 

Aelgar stiffened. His lips pressed into a hard line as he looked down at Artemis. 

“And he knows that getting rid of me will make no difference. After me, someone else will come, and someone after that.” He seemed to enjoy the fear now playing on the merchant’s face. 

“Just kill him and be done with it,” Aelgar said to Drizzt. 

Drizzt hesitated. He looked at Huldra and Catti-Brie. Neither offered any guidance. No one, it seemed, was willing to ask Aelgar what Artemis had meant. Aelgar looked likely to snap at anyone who did, so Drizzt couldn’t blame them. 

“He has already surrendered,” Drizzt said uncertainly. 

“So?” Aelgar snapped. 

Drizzt frowned. “I can’t kill someone who cannot defend himself.” 

“Let me up and I will gladly ‘defend myself’ again,” Artemis said, his voice dripping quiet vitriol. 

Drizzt glared down at him. Something about the way he spoke utterly turned Drizzt’s stomach. “We can take him to Neverwinter. They can try him there,” he said. 

“They’ll only execute him anyway,” Huldra said, not unkindly. “Ye aren’t makin’ any difference except causin’ us some more trouble.” 

“I’m not doing it,” Drizzt said sharply. He looked around at all of them, defensive. “I just saved Mister Aelgar’s life. I think I’ve done my job well enough. I didn’t agree to be an executioner.” He turned to Huldra, having decided that he was no longer asking anyone’s permission. “Help me restrain him.” 

Artemis looked fantastically annoyed--almost as if he would rather this be his end. Being kept alive and brought to face the law seemed to have been his least favorite option, after dying or getting a rematch. Perhaps if he had really wanted to die, he would have reached for a weapon and tried to force their hand--but he didn’t, for which Drizzt was grateful. 

Huldra went to one of the wagons and came back with a length of rope. She knelt on Artemis while they relieved him of his weapons and tied his arms behind him. Artemis gave a few offended grunts of irritation, but that was all. 

Aelgar watched all of this with an anxious frown, but didn’t protest. “If you want to keep him alive, then you’re responsible for him,” he snapped at Drizzt. “I don’t expect anyone else to waste their energy on him and I’m certainly not paying them to do so.” He swept back to his tent, throwing the flap open and ducking inside to return to his bed. 

Drizzt looked down at Artemis, suddenly exhausted. The wound in his leg was still bleeding freely. 

“I’ll watch him,” Huldra grunted. “Go take care o’ yerself, drow.” 

Drizzt’s shoulders dropped in relief. “Thank you,” he said. Huldra gave a curt nod. She and Drizzt had not spoken much since he’d joined the group. At first he’d had the impression that she disliked him. She had a typical dwarven brand of hardness that could be mistaken for unfriendliness, but she looked out for the others when they needed her, which is what mattered. Drizzt understood by then why Catti-Brie had taken to her. 

“Get up, ye greasy scum bucket,” Huldra said to Artemis, kicking him in the ribs. “Never did like ye,” she added under her breath. 

“The feeling is mutual,” Artemis assured her. He shot another dark look Drizzt’s way before following the dwarf to her corner of the camp. The rest of the onlookers gradually returned to their tents, murmuring nervously amongst themselves. 

Drizzt sheathed his sword, and reluctantly turned to the only other person still standing on the road with him, whose eyes he had been avoiding. Catti-Brie was staring after Artemis with an odd, pensive look on her face. She didn’t look that serious very often. The expression was strange on her. 

She looked up at him, and he tensed. He was prepared for judgement. She could not have been happy with his refusal to kill a traitor and would-be-murderer. Perhaps now she was reconsidering her feelings about him, wondering where his loyalties really were. He supposed she would think him a coward. 

She looked down at his leg. “Come,” was all she said. He followed her quietly back to her tent. 

She pointed for him to sit on the rumpled blanket on the floor, and she lit a lantern, which cast a dim light through the cramped tent. She knelt beside him and then paused there, staring blankly into the middle distance, as if she’d forgotten what she’d meant to do. Her hands were balled in tight fists on her knees and her shoulders were high and tense. 

After a long moment, Drizzt reached out and touched her hand. 

She looked up at him. He watched her work to unclench her jaw and unhunch her shoulders. She exhaled quietly. Drizzt was still afraid she was angry at him until she leaned forward to rest her forehead on his shoulder. 

He silently draped an arm over her shoulders, leaning his cheek into her hair. Now that it was over, he was trembling very slightly with nervous energy. 

At length, Catti-Brie took a breath and drew back. Recovered, she turned to dig in her pack, as if eager to pretend that nothing had happened. 

“Can ye get yer trousers off?” she asked quietly, with the accent that seemed to come and go depending on how much she was concentrating on it. He had realized that she was trying to rid herself of it to sound more like people in human cities did. He wanted to tell her that she needn’t have tried so hard--that she was perfect the way she was, with or without the accent. But he of all people could understand her desire to fit in and to not be judged by the way she sounded, or to have people always asking questions about it. So he said nothing. 

He pulled his trousers off and folded them carefully to avoid getting blood on Catti-Brie’s things. He wrung his hands in his lap, unhappy about being half-naked in front of her in this undignified context. She paid no mind, and was already bending to examine the wound. She rested a slender-fingered hand on his knee as she looked, squinting in the flickering light. 

“Worse than I thought,” she murmured. “Does it hurt?” 

“Quite a bit. What are you going to do?” 

“Going to have to stitch you up.” She gave him a small, encouraging smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll be good as new in a week or so. You’ll have a nice scar, at that.” 

He bit his lip as Catti-Brie gathered a needle and thread and then busied herself with the task of fixing him up. He thought she seemed glad to have something to do to distract her from darker thoughts. 

He watched her face as she worked. She wore a focused expression, looking only at what her hands were doing and not up at his face. There was a painful prick and a very unpleasant pulling sensation as she dragged the thread through. He winced, and had to resist the urge to complain. 

He’d never had an injury like this. He was comforted by the fact that Catti-Brie didn’t seem worried. She must have seen many wounds before, and gotten some herself. She would know which sorts of injuries were worth worrying about, and which weren’t. 

“You have done this before?” he guessed. He jumped as the needle went in again. 

“Of course. Healing potions are better, when you can get hold of them. But knowing how to take care of a wound is necessary if you’re putting yourself in front of swords.” 

He let her continue in silence for a while, and did his best to stay still. Her hands were cold, which felt pleasant on the bruising skin around the cut. 

“What do you think he was trying to do?” Drizzt asked quietly after a while. 

“Artemis?” Her face darkened as she said his name, the corners of her lips turning down. She had not considered him a friend, he knew, but she had not expected the betrayal. He could see how much it was disturbing her. The realization that someone you had worked with for some time, someone you thought you knew, could be plotting something like this, was enough to shake anyone. 

“He’s a mercenary,” she said with a shrug. “Someone paid him to kill Aelgar. Someone paying a lot more than Aelgar is paying us, probably.” 

“Is that...common? For someone to turn on their employer like that?” 

She shook her head slowly, and lowered her voice even more. “Not impossible, obviously. But people will stop hiring you if word gets out that you’re murdering your clients. I suppose he values his reputation as an assassin more than his reputation as a caravan guard.” 

“Why would someone want Aelgar dead?” 

“Who can say? We know nothing of the man’s past. Might be that he’s involved with more unsavory type business than we’d assumed.” 

Drizzt took a breath to speak, then released it again as he thought better of what he’d been about to say. 

Then, he thought better of it again. 

“The other day, I saw Artemis sneaking around the camp at night, when he thought everyone was asleep.” 

Catti-Brie stopped what she was doing and looked up at him in surprise. 

“He was searching for something,” Drizzt went on, looking away to avoid her gaze. “I accused him of thieving. He said he was only taking back something that Aelgar had stolen from someone else.” 

Catti-Brie frowned at him. “And you didn’t tell anyone?” 

“He asked me not to,” Drizzt said very quietly, aware of how stupid it sounded now. 

Her eyes softened. “I wouldn’t mention that to anyone else,” she said. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.” 

Drizzt found that overly generous, but didn’t say so. 

Catti-Brie snapped off the end of the thread, and sat back. “Stitches are done.” 

He looked down at himself for the first time since she’d begun. There was a row of very neat black stitches across a thin, red line. He looked up at her again, with a little more admiration than might have been proper, especially considering his current state of undress. “Thank you,” he said. 

The candle in the lantern suddenly went out, having burned too low to sustain itself. The tent went dark. A little tendril of smoke rose from the lantern, filling the tent with the smell of wax. 

Catti-Brie sighed softly, still holding the needle in one hand. She stared, wide-eyed, at a spot between his chest and his throat, seeing nothing. It made him smile a little. There was something endearing about how helpless humans were in the dark. 

She reached blindly for the lantern, and hissed through her teeth when her fingers grazed hot glass. Drizzt quickly leaned forward to pull the lantern away from her and set it aside. He took the needle from her hand and put it back in the little sewing kit she’d taken it from. 

“Where do you keep your candles?” he said. 

Instead of answering, she leaned forward and kissed him. She missed at first, hitting his cheek, and quickly moved to cover his mouth with hers. 

He froze for a moment, too surprised to react, then eagerly followed her lead. Spurred on by the positive response, she weaved a hand into his hair. She moved to brush her lips against his neck, with a surprising but very welcome urgency. It was only a matter of seconds before he had completely forgotten about his injury. 

She leaned into him until, pushed too far off balance, he fell back onto the blanket on the floor. She followed him all the way down, her presence heavy and strong and warm over him. Her hair draped softly over his shoulders, and her breath was light on his skin. His arms found her waist, and pulled her closer into him. 

She was pulling at the hem of his chainmail shirt. He quickly reached down to pull it up over his head. He struggled with it a good deal more than he usually would have. Suddenly he was aware of how many layers of clothing he was wearing, and cursed his own stupidity for his choice in outfit. By the _ gods, _ was this mail made of spiderwebs? Why was it tangling in his hair? 

He finally managed to pull it off, and threw it aside with rather unnecessary force. Catti-Brie immediately leaned down and put her lips on him again. Her hand slipped under the hem of his shirt to find bare skin. She shifted her knees to get closer, and inadvertently hit against his recently stitched thigh. Drizzt gave a pained hiss. 

She drew back. “Ah… I’m sorry. Maybe we should stop,” she whispered. 

“No,” he said quickly. “Unless...unless you want to?” 

“ _ I _ don’t.” 

“Then don’t.” 

She smiled, looking down toward his face with her eyes not exactly focused on him. 

“Close your eyes?” she said. 

He tilted his head, which she, of course, couldn’t see. “Why?” 

“So you’re not looking at me while I can’t see you back,” she said, blushing faintly. 

He smiled, and reluctantly closed his eyes. “Alright.” 

“They’re closed?” 

“Yes.” 

He heard the rustling of clothes being shed, and the mental image of what was happening above him made his breath catch. He thought to ask her if she was sure he couldn’t look just once, but then she was kissing him again, and the thought melted into a contented daze. 

———

She slept curled on her side with her back pressed against his chest. 

He’d pressed his uninjured thigh up against the back of hers and wrapped an arm around her middle, and then stayed that way as she’d fallen asleep. He didn’t sleep. He kept very still and quiet, not wanting to wake her up. He dreaded the moment when she would wake--when it would be over. He was afraid of the look he would see in her eyes. 

He’d found that there were a surprising number of humans who were curious about what it was like to bed a drow. He’d been fascinated by this discovery at first, but just as quickly found himself tiring of it. No one really wanted to be  _ with _ him. Not like he would have liked. Not for too long. 

The people he’d slept with had always had the same look when they woke up the next morning. They would see him and recall what had happened the night before, and they would look vaguely disappointed in themselves and would try (and fail) to hide it, and then they would peek out of his doorway before leaving, hoping no one would see them coming from his house. 

He had the urge to hold her a little closer. He remained perfectly still, instead. The longer the night dragged on, the worse he felt. 

Hours passed before he felt her shift and wake. Dim morning light was starting to shine through the walls of the tent by then. Guiltily, he let go of her and rolled onto his back as she rubbed her eyes. He glanced at her sidelong as she turned and squinted up at him. 

He waited. 

She pursed her lips as she looked at him. Then, “You should come again tonight,” she whispered, a smile beginning to curve her lips. 

Drizzt tried not to let his relief show. If she’d seen his thoughts written on his face, she didn’t show it. She shared none of his misgivings. She made the suggestion as if an alternative had not even occurred to her. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised. Catti-Brie wasn’t like the other people he’d been with. She liked him. 

But he was not foolish enough to believe that he could hold onto her for more than a little while. 

She was better than him. Always looking for an adventure, capable at seemingly everything, wise beyond her years to the point that he often felt foolish around her, always knowing the right thing to say, always managing to find the bright side of any situation... 

She was so much, and he was so little. She could do better. There were a thousand other people she could have been spending her time with who would have less baggage dragging her down, who were cleverer, more charming, taller...and human. 

When he didn’t respond to her suggestion, she arched her eyebrow at him. He realized that she was going to get the wrong idea if he didn’t say something. 

“Tonight is Artemis’s watch,” he said. 

She looked at him blankly for a moment before she realized what that meant. One or both of them would have to take his place. She sighed, frustrated. “Tomorrow, then. After we get to Neverwinter.” 

He smiled. He could be with her for a little while longer, at least. It was better than nothing. 

“Yes,” he said. “Tomorrow.” For good measure, he bent down and kissed her cheek. 


	7. Chapter 7

The next day went on almost as normal. It felt oddly routine, considering all that had happened. Drizzt, unable to walk far with his leg in its current state, rode in the wagon beside Aelgar. 

Artemis walked slow and steady, wearing exactly the same unimpressed, vaguely annoyed expression he always did, but now had his hands tied behind him and was without weapons. Aelgar had said that they were on schedule to arrive in Neverwinter the next day. There, they would leave Artemis to his fate. 

Drizzt still felt off about it. He glanced across the road at the man. Huldra had been walking beside him, having taken it upon herself to guard him. When she moved away for a moment to talk to Catti-Brie, Drizzt took the opportunity to gingerly hop off the wagon and sidle up beside him. Artemis didn’t bother to look up at him. 

“I was trying to help you,” Drizzt said, quietly enough to keep their conversation from the others. “I trusted you. How could you do this to us?” His voice was coming out a little angrier and a little whinier than he’d intended. Now that he finally had the opportunity to confront the man, his emotions were getting the better of him. 

Artemis spared him a short glance, and otherwise ignored him, which for some reason irritated Drizzt beyond belief. 

“You’re not even going to give me an explanation?” Drizzt said. 

Artemis rolled his eyes. 

Drizzt turned to face forward, glowering at the road as he limped along. “I’m sorry. I suppose it offends you to have an ‘unsupervised drow’ near you,” he commented dryly, because he was still annoyed by the comment Artemis had made back when he’d first joined the caravan. Now that he’d turned out to be a secret psychopath, Drizzt didn’t much care about preserving their distant but polite truce. 

This time, Artemis gave him a long look before turning back to the road. “You might be the stupidest person I have ever met,” he said flatly. 

Drizzt rocked back at the sudden insult. “What?” 

“I never cared about your race. I objected to you keeping watch in order to give myself more time alone at night to continue my search without arousing suspicion.” 

Relief washed over Drizzt, and then guilt and frustration. He glared at the road, disgusted with himself for almost feeling warmth toward the man. Why did he let himself feel honored by a mere lack of hatred toward him? Why did he still take it as a great kindness when he was treated like anyone else was? 

“Would you care for some advice?” Artemis said coolly. “You are far too eager to please. People like you are easy to manipulate. All I did was ask you to trust me. You had no reason to. If you weren’t so transparently desperate for approval, it wouldn’t have worked. Huldra would have sold me out immediately. So would Catti-Brie. But both of them are far wiser than you. You may want to reconsider your habit of blindly trusting everyone you meet.” 

Drizzt was angry enough that he wanted to argue, even though he couldn’t exactly disagree. “Having no faith in other people is not something to brag about. It’s not a character flaw to want to see the best in people.” 

“I didn’t say it was a character flaw. I said it was stupid. Maybe you should stop looking at the world in terms of idealistic morality, and start looking at it in terms of what won’t get you killed.” 

“I would really rather die.” 

Artemis gave a soft laugh. 

“What were you searching for, anyway?” Drizzt asked. “You’re not going to find it, so you may as well tell me.” 

“No, I may not.” 

“What could have convinced you to betray your employer?” Drizzt asked instead. He could not fathom what would possess someone to commit such an evil act. He had never met anyone like Artemis outside of the Underdark, and it both disturbed him and filled him with a morbid fascination. And with Artemis feeling unusually talkative, having spoken more in the past minute than in the entire time since he’d joined the caravan, Drizzt thought he might get no better chance to ask than right now.

“I was paid to.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Does one need further reason?” 

“To _kill_ someone?” 

“If I had not done it, someone else would have. And someone else will, in fact. Do you think my failure will make any difference to them? Someone with enough means to hire one assassin has the means to hire another. You are pathetically naive about how the world works.” 

Artemis stopped talking, but Drizzt got the impression that he had been considering saying something else, and was still debating it in his mind. Drizzt waited. After a long silence, his patience paid off. 

“Has it occurred to you that Aelgar might not be deserving of your loyalty?” Artemis said slyly, raising an eyebrow at Drizzt. 

“Are you saying he isn’t?” 

“How much do you really know of him?” Artemis said. “There is a reason someone wants him dead. It could be because his business is cutting into his rival’s profits. It could be because of his interest in too-young girls. Who could say?” 

Drizzt watched Artemis’s face. It was impossible to tell what he was making up and what he was not. 

It was not impossible for Aelgar to have been responsible for all sorts of evils. They would have no way of knowing. Drizzt didn’t even know what they were carrying in those wagons--he hadn’t looked, after all. He’d taken Aelgar’s word on it. It was possible the man didn’t deserve their protection after all. 

Planting that seed of doubt had, presumably, been Artemis’s intention, and it annoyed Drizzt that it worked. 

“I don’t know why I should believe you,” he said at length. 

“You should not. Good to see you finally learning a bit of common sense.” 

Drizzt looked over to where Catti-Brie and Huldra were talking, on the other side of the line of wagons. Catti-Brie was laughing at something Huldra had said. Usually it would have raised his spirits, watching her. Now he only felt afraid for her. He wondered what would have happened to all of them if he hadn’t woken up. How many of them might have been hurt if he hadn’t intervened? If he hadn’t been as lucky as he had been? 

He grazed a hand over his bandaged leg, which was itching now and still burned with pain, and was worsening the longer he walked. He probably should have left Artemis to his brooding and gotten back in the wagon. 

“I’m surprised it was you and not her,” Artemis noted quietly. “You might be faster than she is, but you fight like a child.” 

Drizzt watched the road, trying to resist the bait. “Are you often bested by children?” 

Artemis’s lips curled. Drizzt held back a smile. He had found a sore spot. 

“You beat me with a cheap parlor trick,” Artemis said sharply, unable to hide his anger. “It surprised me. It will not surprise me again. Things like that will work exactly once, and after that you will have to rely on skill, of which you have little.” 

Drizzt was quite aware that he needed to get better with his sword if he wanted to live through his next fight. But he certainly wasn’t going to say that aloud to Artemis. “You’re a sore loser,” he said impassively. 

Artemis stopped in place and whirled to face him. “Then fight me again, if you are so sure of yourself!” 

“No.” 

“I thought not,” Artemis sneered. 

By then, Huldra had noticed them. She crossed the road toward them, glaring all the way. “Get on, ye lousy rat ball,” she growled at Artemis. “If ye’re thinkin’ we’re going to carry ye, ye’ve got another thing comin’.” 

**———**

Drizzt returned to the wagon and stayed there beside Aelgar for nearly the rest of the day. He had enjoyed the rest at first, but very quickly grew very bored. Aelgar did not make particularly good company. When he spoke, which he didn’t much, he only talked about money and business--how successful he estimated his sales would be in the next town, how many hours he would have to work the next day, which of the other buyers and sellers and craftsmen in the area he disliked and expected to cause him problems... They were topics that Drizzt didn’t really understand and didn’t really care to. He wondered if anyone did. 

So it was almost a relief when, after hours of nothing, they spotted a stranger on the road ahead of them. A man stood right in their path, watching their slow approach with an alert stiffness. Waiting. 

“What would you say he’s up to?” Aelgar muttered to Drizzt, watching the man nervously. 

The man was dressed in robes that were at once elaborate and tatty, made of cloth that looked like it wanted to be brightly colored but was dull instead, and hung off his narrow shoulders limply where it looked like it should have been full and grand. The bottom of the robes were dark with mud stains from traveling by foot. 

It was the sort of look a person inevitably had when they wanted to look wealthy and important and didn’t have enough cash to fully pull it off. The effect was overall a little off-putting. Half-measures in things like this were never convincing nor flattering. 

“It seems like he means to block our way,” Drizzt said. 

“A highwayman,” Aelgar said darkly. “But just one lone man? He must be mad.” 

“There could be others in the woods waiting to ambush us.” 

“Wouldn’t they all be hiding, then? Why send one man out alone?” 

The caravan came to a stop. Drizzt scanned the woods on either side of them. He saw nothing, so far. “True,” he said. “Perhaps he’s just lost.” 

“Just get him out of the way, will you?” 

The man, having seen Drizzt now, was staring at him with a deep, confused frown. He seemed to hesitate, and then, very suddenly, he began waving his hands around in a strange pattern that Drizzt recognized as spellcasting. 

“Oh,” Drizzt said. 

He thought at first that the man might have been faking it, until a ball of fire appeared in front of him and rapidly grew as the man pumped magic into it. 

Drizzt jumped to his feet. “Take cover!” he shouted. Aelgar was already diving off the side of the wagon. Drizzt managed to jump off the other side just before a massive fireball roared through the air and collided with the front of the wagon where they’d just been sitting. 

There was a blast of heat and a crashing sound as it hit, like no sound that any natural fire should make. When the fireball had dissipated and Drizzt looked up, the entire front of the wagon was broken inward like it had smashed into a stone wall, and the wood was splintered and blackened and on fire. He smelled burnt flesh, and spared a moment to pity the horses that had been pulling the wagon. 

The caravan erupted into chaos. Drizzt could hear Aelgar somewhere on the other side of the wagon, shouting in indignant fury. The drivers of the other wagons jumped from their perches for fear of being struck next. Some of them were running into the woods or back down the road. Others were standing frozen on the road, not knowing where to go. 

Drizzt drew his sword, for all the good it would do against a man who could shoot fireballs from his hands, and began pulling the others behind the cover of the half-burnt wagon. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the wizard moving his hands again, preparing another spell. 

“Another one incoming!” Drizzt called. Aelgar had ducked behind the wagon, along with Huldra and Catti-Brie and five others. Drizzt glanced around for anyone still straggling away from the wagon. He realized that one of the horses at the front of the wagon was still standing, unhurt, and was struggling to free itself from its tethers. The fire had managed to miss it. It probably would not be so lucky twice. 

Drizzt ran to the front of the wagon and brought his sword down on the harnesses tying the horse to the wagon. Immediately it raced off down the road. 

“What are you doing?!” Aelgar bellowed, red-faced. 

Drizzt stared at him, taken aback. “Would you rather it was dead?” 

“I would rather have the possibility of a dead horse than the assurance of an escaped one! What in the world do you think you’re doing, releasing my property like that? I’m already losing half a wagon full of goods from that fire, and now you’re—” 

Drizzt tuned out the rest of his complaints. A flame was growing in front of the wizard. He was running to take cover when he spotted Artemis on the ground out in the open. He’d fallen in his rush to get to safety, and with his hands still bound behind his back, he was slow to climb to his feet again. He was the only one not behind cover, and now the wizard was looking his way. 

Drizzt ran to him, grabbed his arm, and managed to help him stagger to his feet. As they dove for the wagon, fire streaked across the ground where they’d just been standing. There was a burst of heat across Drizzt’s heels, so hot that for a moment he was afraid the fireball had caught him. Artemis collapsed against the wagon’s back wheel, panting, and shot Drizzt a hateful look. 

“Your cloak is on fire,” he said blandly. 

Drizzt looked down, and found a small flame creeping up from the hem of his cloak. He quickly batted it out. 

Catti-Brie was standing with her back against the wagon, bow half-drawn. “You alright?” 

Drizzt nodded. The wound in his thigh was spiking pain across his leg. He looked down, and found several dots of blood coming through his trousers. 

“Oh, good!” Aelgar said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Thank the gods we’ve saved the murderer! That’s the important thing, after all!” He shook his head miserably. “Gods, this couldn’t be going worse. Why do these things always happen to _me_?” 

“Keep calm,” Drizzt said. “It’s only one man, as you said. We’ll deal with him.” 

“Then do it already!” 

There was a small sound from the other end of the wagon, and Drizzt realized that it was the wizard clearing his throat. 

“Halt!” the wizard cried unnecessarily. “You stand before Gandar! The Magnificent! Behold my power!” 

In one quick motion, Catti-Brie drew her bow, pointed it around the corner, and loosed. The rest of them peered out from behind their cover to see how true her aim would be. 

The arrow flew toward the wizard’s heart. He flinched, but the arrow didn’t reach him. There was an odd shimmer in the air in front of him as the arrow came close, and then, suddenly, the arrow was flying back in the wagon’s direction at great speed. 

Catti-Brie ducked aside just fast enough to avoid being skewered. The arrow embedded itself in the wood of the next wagon behind them. 

“Your paltry weapons are useless against me!” came the wizard’s reedy voice again. “Attack me once more and I shall rain destruction upon you!” 

“Ye’ve done that already,” Huldra yelled to him. She shifted her hammer uneasily in her hands. “I could throw it at ‘im,” she said to the others, her voice lowered. 

“And then what?” Catti-Brie asked. 

“An’ then maybe he goes down, if I can get a good shot in. Hammer’s a lot heavier than those fiddly little arrows. Bet that armor or whatever it is won’t be holdin’ up forever.” 

“You’re going to hit yourself in the face with your own hammer, idiot,” Artemis said. 

“Shut up, weasel-arse, ye don’t get a say in it.” 

“Well someone has to do _something_ ,” said one of the other caravaners, huddled against a wheel and covering her head, as if that would help ward off fireballs.

Huldra leaned out from behind the wagon and gave the wizard hardly a glance before whirling her hammer in a circle and heaving it high in the air. The wizard gaped as it flew toward him, end over end. 

There was another shimmer in the air as the silver head of the hammer impacted an invisible wall above the wizard’s head—and then it was flying back at them. 

“Ah, fluorite,” Huldra cursed quietly. 

They all ducked against the side of the wagon. A few of the caravaners shrieked, covering their heads. The hammer smashed into the ground behind them, showering dirt around and leaving a hammer-shaped crater behind. 

“You three are incompetent,” Aelgar mumbled miserably. 

“That hit came at him from above,” Catti-Brie said, ignoring him. “I’d thought to circle ‘round and try to come at him from behind, but it seems he’s encased himself in the shield on all sides.” 

“Are you quite finished?” Gandar the wizard called from beyond the wagon, sounding almost offended.

“Drizzt,” Artemis said suddenly, and Drizzt looked up at him in surprise. It might have been the first time he’d addressed him by name. Artemis nodded toward something on the side of the road. Drizzt followed his gaze. Behind and to the right of the wizard, perched high on the cliff that rose up on the side of the road, were two female drow. 

One of them was Vierna. 

She’d been waving, trying to get his attention. Now that he was looking at her, she began a series of very fast, intricate motions with her fingers. 

His excitement at seeing her again faded into dismay. He’d never learned any finger code. He shook his head at her. 

She started over, slower this time. Drizzt just shrugged. Vierna glared at him. She started over again, this time forceful and angry. Drizzt sighed. 

“Someone you know?” Artemis asked. 

“It’s my sister.” 

“Sister?” Catti-Brie repeated in surprise. 

“She’ll help us, then?” Aelgar said hopefully. 

“Well…” 

The woman beside Vierna gently rested a hand on her arm to still her. Vierna stopped motioning, and palmed her forehead. She paused there, calming herself, and then looked up and began motioning again. 

With utmost irritation and patronizing slowness, she pointed toward Drizzt, and then made a gesture with her fingers like walking. She pointed to the wizard. Then she pointed to herself, and then to the wizard again, and then smashed her fist into her other palm. 

He frowned and quickly shook his head. Surely she’d seen what had happened just seconds before? 

Vierna glowered at him and made a sharp gesture toward her left hip—the one she’d used to keep her whip on. There was no weapon there now, but Drizzt understood the demand for obedience well enough. 

He did not fear disobeying her, the way he had when he was young—but he did wonder what made her so confident. She would not have been so insistent if she didn’t have a plan that would work. 

“What do you want from us, Gandar the Magnificent?” Drizzt called. There was quiet around the wagon as everyone waited for the answer. 

There was a short silence, as if the question had surprised him. Then, “You will surrender your goods and your weapons to me here and now, or you will be destroyed!” 

Drizzt paused for a long moment, working up his courage, then stepped out from behind the wagon, into the road. The small crowd around the wagon went silent again. He assumed they were all watching to see if he’d blow up in a ball of fire. 

The wizard stared at him, and seemed to be trying to decide whether he should feel threatened. Drizzt almost felt sorry for him. Unless he was very mistaken, this was the wizard’s first time doing this. Shaky nerves and false confidence were coming off of him in waves. 

Drizzt slowly sheathed his sword. He glanced up at the cliff on the side of the road in time to see Vierna disappear into the brush as she started down. He took a few steps forward, and the wizard made a motion as if to begin another spell. Drizzt stopped, and gave a low bow. “We are in awe of your power, Gandar.” 

The wizard paused his hand motions, then stood a little straighter. “Of course. As you should be.” 

“Will you accept our surrender?” 

He looked surprised again, then recovered. “Very well,” he snapped. “Be on your way, then, quickly, and I will allow you to keep your lives.” 

Drizzt looked behind him. Everyone was watching him. Catti-Brie was frowning with concern, bow cocked at her side. 

He motioned to the wagons, then raised an eyebrow at Gandar. “And you’ll just...drive all of these away on your own?” 

“No, obviously I’m not going to—” The wizard glared at him, flustered. “Foolish of you to assume I’m alone.” 

“Are you not?” 

“Of course I’m not. What fool would rob a caravan without any backup? I _could_ , of course, but it makes things much simpler when you have help to take care of certain undesirable tasks. I’ll have you know that there are multiple unseen crossbows trained on you at this very moment.” 

That last part was a step too far to be believable, and even the wizard seemed to realize his mistake. Drizzt glanced into the forest that Vierna had disappeared into. He spotted movement somewhere inside it. 

“Perhaps you would consider letting me join you,” he suggested on a whim. There was an angry gasp behind him--presumably Aelgar--which Drizzt didn’t mind too much, as it only lent credence to his performance. 

“What?” the wizard said, snorting in astonishment. “You would abandon your caravan so easily?” Drizzt sensed he was surprised but not skeptical. He was too arrogant to be suspicious. 

A dark figure emerged from the trees. Vierna crept onto the road behind the wizard, keeping low and making no sound. Gandar took no notice. 

Drizzt shrugged, making an effort not to look at her. “We drow are a disloyal lot.” 

Gandar crossed his arms thoughtfully, leaning back on one heel as he studied Drizzt. “Tell me--how is it that they have domesticated you? I have never seen a drow serving humans.” 

Behind him, Vierna began a series of complex hand motions, very different from finger code. Her lips moved silently as she stared at Gandar, unblinking in concentration. 

“Oh, it took time, let me tell you. Every instinct I have is telling me to attack you, even now. It is only through sheer force of will and decades of training that I manage to hold back.” 

The wizard stroked his chin, frowning in fascination. “Is that so?” 

He had meant only to entertain himself secretly with the comments, but now he found himself a little annoyed that the man somehow hadn’t caught even an inkling of his sarcasm. People really did have very low opinions of drow. “Oh, yes,” he drawled. “We are violent animals. Not an intelligent thought among us. No worthwhile qualities whatsoever. Unless we have a human to ‘domesticate’ us, of course. I’m one of the lucky ones.” 

Now Gandar looked confused. He squinted at Drizzt. “Are you mocking me?” 

“I would never.” His tone probably too obviously indicated the opposite, and it made Gandar scowl at him. 

“You think you can make a fool of me? What if I just kill you? Who will be the fool then?” 

Drizzt took a nervous step backward. “Let’s not be rash. You must have misunderstood me.” 

“I think I understood perfectly!” 

Gandar began his spell again, gathering a ball of fire in front of him. Drizzt tensed and almost started running back to the wagon, but then something on the ground behind the wizard caught his eye. There was a ripple in the dirt, emanating from Vierna and moving toward the wizard. She made a sharp gesture, and the ripple turned into a violent churning. 

The wizard started as the ground under his feet went soft and his boots began to sink into the ground. His burgeoning fireball dissipated into the air. 

“What is this?” Gandar demanded, looking down at his feet and then glaring up at Drizzt. “You can’t—!” 

Very suddenly, the ground beneath him turned to liquid, and the wizard was swallowed up by the mud. He gave a horrified shriek, which was cut short as his head sank under the ground. 

The ground calmed and then solidified again over his head, as if he’d never been there. 

There was a series of soft gasps and exclamations from behind the wagon. Someone clapped. 

Vierna came forward and raised a hand in the air near where the wizard had been. There was a soft glimmer in the air as she touched the invisible barrier that had been around him. It was still there. She ran a finger along it, curious, before she bothered to raise her gaze to meet Drizzt’s. She flashed a hint of a smug smile. 

She’d regained her ability to cast spells. Which meant that she’d found another god. 

Before he could think of what to say, there was a rustling in the brush beside the road. From the trees emerged the other drow who’d been with Vierna on the cliffside. She was holding the arm of a young man in a very worn, oversized set of armor. She pulled him to the road and then threw him to the ground. 

The woman spoke to Vierna in the drow language. “He was cowering back there,” she said, nodding to the trees behind her. She held up a large crossbow. “Holding this.” 

Drizzt studied the boy. He was too young to be doing this. Fifteen, at most. He covered his head with his arm, as if afraid of being hit. He glanced up long enough to spot Drizzt. Perhaps something about Drizzt seemed safer or more approachable than the other drow, because it was he who the boy chose to address. 

“Don’t kill me!” he begged. 

Vierna frowned at the boy. She drew a knife from her side and approached him. She had no patience for things like second chances, or even interrogations. 

“Wait,” Drizzt said, putting a hand on her arm to stop her. She stopped, and looked down at his hand in disapproval. He removed it before she could shake him off. 

Aelgar and Catti-Brie and the others were approaching now. Vierna wrinkled her nose when she saw them. She turned to the other drow woman, and made a motion to indicate that it was time for them to leave. 

“We’ll speak later, brother,” she said shortly, and then they were retreating back into the seclusion of the forest. 

“Travel is easier on the road,” Drizzt called to them. 

“I do not care for the roads. Too many humans,” Vierna replied, casting a careless wave over her shoulder. They disappeared into the woods. 

The boy at Drizzt’s feet watched them go, then looked up at Drizzt, fearful. 

“I didn’t mean--I wasn’t going to shoot, I swear,” he stammered. 

“Ye’re with the wizard,” Huldra said, crossing her arms. 

“No!” 

“What kind of poor lie is that?” Catti-Brie scoffed. “Why else were you here, then?” 

The boy glanced around at all of them, searching for sympathetic eyes, and found none. “It’s not like that. I was working with him, but only because I had to.” 

“Aye, ye’re as much a victim as the rest of us,” Huldra said, sarcastic. 

The boy looked up at Drizzt, who was still watching him appraisingly. “I met him in Neverwinter,” he began. “He said he had a job for me. I knew there was something off about him. I wouldn’t have taken the job if I wasn’t desperate. I didn’t find out what he had in mind until we got out here. I was afraid he’d kill me if I protested.” He pressed his face into his hands. “Ah, gods. I never meant to get involved in...in all this. I’m not that kind of person.” 

He looked so pathetic, so distressed and on the verge of tears, that Drizzt did not at all doubt his sincerity. He looked up at the others, and guessed they felt the same. Even Huldra was looking at the boy with pitying disapproval rather than anger. Everyone seemed to feel the same, except one. 

“Just kill him,” Aelgar said impatiently. 

Drizzt looked up at the man in surprise. “You’re not serious?” 

“Why shouldn’t I be serious?” 

“He’s just a boy.” 

“And already a criminal. At this rate he’ll grow up to be a thief and a murderer like the wizard.” 

Drizzt shook his head in exasperation. “We’re not going to kill him,” he said flatly, not caring whether any of the rest of them agreed. “I’m beginning to think that murder is your answer to every problem you encounter.” 

Aelgar turned to Drizzt. There was a vein popping in his temple now. “You are refusing to follow my orders again? First the assassin, and now this?” 

“I’m not here to follow your orders. I’m here to protect the caravan, and it has been protected.” 

“You are, in fact, here to follow orders,” Aelgar said, nearly shouting. “And if you can’t do that, then I’ll replace you with someone else who can!” 

“Fine.” 

Aelgar blinked at him in surprise. It was the expression of someone who was accustomed to getting his way by throwing money around, Drizzt thought. 

“I have a job already. I’m only here because of Catti-Brie. So you can keep your money and your foolish orders.” 

A stiff silence fell over the group. Somewhere nearby, a bird chirped cheerfully. 

Drizzt glanced over at Catti-Brie when he saw her lips tense. She’d been watching the exchange with raised eyebrows. Now she was holding back an amused smile. 

“We should take the boy to Neverwinter and let the lawkeepers there decide his fate,” one of the other merchants cautiously suggested. “It’s not for us to carry out his punishment.” 

Drizzt didn’t consider that option for very long. The law would not be kind to someone in this situation, even someone young. He turned to the boy, who was watching them all nervously. 

“Just go,” Drizzt said to him. “Go home, and we’ll forget this happened.” 

The boy’s eyes widened, and his lips pressed into a line. He looked around at the others, as if expecting them to argue. Aelgar was already sputtering in protest. 

“I would go quickly, if I were you,” Drizzt added pointedly. 

The boy nodded, scrambled to his feet, and ran down the road without further protest or acknowledgement. 

Aelgar was fuming, his face so red that Drizzt wondered if he would burst a blood vessel. He muttered something to the others, too quietly for Drizzt to hear, but he could guess the content of the discussion. The rest of the group seemed conflicted. Catti-Brie was the only one smiling. 

As Drizzt looked around at the group, an inexplicable feeling that he’d forgotten something nagged at him. Something was off, but he couldn’t tell what it was right away. Something was missing. 

“Where is Artemis?” he said suddenly. Everyone stopped talking. 

Huldra looked toward the burnt wagon. “He’s still sittin’ over—” She fell silent when she couldn’t see him right away. She rushed over to look behind the wagon, and the rest of them followed. There, where Artemis had been sitting, was a pile of the rope that had bound him, neatly coiled up and tied into a bow. Artemis himself had disappeared. 

There was a stunned silence. Then Huldra let out a very long string of curses and insults directed at the absent prisoner. A few of the others glanced nervously around at the trees, as if expecting another attack. 

“It’s alright,” Drizzt said, raising his hands in a calming motion. “It’s only Aelgar that he wants dead. I think we can assume that the rest of us are not targets. Don’t you think, Aelgar?” 

The man shot Drizzt a resentful look. He’d gone very pale, suddenly. 

“I suppose I could stay on until we get to Neverwinter,” Drizzt added, resting a hand on his hip. “I assume you do not protest?”


	8. Chapter 8

That night, Drizzt kept watch beside the campfire. Halfway through the night, there was a soft sound from the woods at the side of the road. A leaf being crunched underfoot. 

He jumped, his hand darting to his sword. He was already thinking about how he would defeat Artemis if they faced each other again. He would drop a globe of darkness over him while calling to wake the others. Maybe he could even catch him by surprise with the darkness, and go in swinging before he could realize what was happening. 

Artemis would accuse him of cheating again. That was what sore losers called it when they were outsmarted. 

But when he looked toward the woods, he found not Artemis, but Vierna standing there beneath the trees. He relaxed, letting go of the sword. He gave her a nod, not wanting to speak and risk waking the others. 

Vierna gave a jerk of her head, beckoning him over. Drizzt shook his head, and waved toward the camp. He needed to stay and keep watch. Vierna gave him an impatient look. She pointed to the space beside her, then to the camp--a gesture that he took to mean that they could still keep watch from there well enough. He hesitated, then went to her. 

She watched him approach, never taking her eyes from him, like she was sizing him up. He couldn’t help but feel a little small under her scrutiny. 

“My helpless little brother has become not-so-helpless,” she said softly, with no particular inflection, and he couldn’t tell if she meant to make fun of him or not. She looked down at the sword on his hip, then back up at his face. “Do you know how to use it?” 

“Well enough.” 

She gave a small breath, almost a laugh. “Which is to say, not well at all?” she guessed. “But it is a start.” She looked up at something on Drizzt’s other side, and when he turned, he found the other drow female standing there, as if a mirror had been placed to reflect Vierna herself. The same woman she’d been with earlier. 

“What happened to the scimitar I gave you?” Vierna said. 

He leaned against a tree, glancing up at the camp to be sure it was still undisturbed. He felt better knowing that Vierna and her companion were there with him. An assassin might be able to defeat Drizzt, but there was no world in which they could defeat Vierna. “It’s at home, put away in the dark. The sun was burning it.” 

She gave an understanding nod. She no longer had her clothes and armor from the Underdark, he noticed. They must have fallen apart long ago. “It was our father’s.” 

He frowned at her, curious. “Our?” 

She gave a single nod. Drizzt hadn’t realized that he and Vierna were fully of the same blood. She must have found some significance in that fact, as well, if she saw fit to mention it. Drizzt recalled vague pictures of the various older males he’d seen around their home when he was very young. He could not have said which one of them was his sire. 

Vierna turned to the other woman. “It is like I told you,” she said conversationally. “He is nearly human. He even looks like them. The way he moves. The expressions his face makes. Strange.” 

The woman gave Vierna a small, knowing smile. “It is the case with many of our kind who didn’t come from the Underdark. They are their own breed, different from the rest of us. It’s only natural.” 

“How long have you been following me?” Drizzt asked, a little annoyed by their casual judgement of him. 

“Not following,” Vierna corrected him. “Our paths crossed, by coincidence. Or by fate. I think we shall be walking the same way, for a time.” 

The idea of that might have bothered him, years ago. Now, he was glad for it. “Thank you,” he said. “For what you did earlier.” 

She nodded. 

“Why did you do it?” 

She frowned a little, as if annoyed at him for making her say it aloud. “Because my brother needed help. He is young and stupid and does not know how to take care of himself. So I helped him. What is wrong with that?” 

“I would have expected you to say that if I couldn’t defend myself then I deserved whatever I got.” 

Vierna glanced up at her companion again, raising her eyebrows slightly. The other woman looked mildly amused. “I might have said that, at one point in my life,” Vierna said guardedly. “A lot of things have changed in the past few years. Now that there are so few of my own kind around me, I find myself placing more value on their presence in my life.” 

Drizzt did not miss the shy smile that was growing slightly wider on Vierna’s companion’s face. He did not miss the fond way they looked at each other. He wondered how much of Vierna’s new attitude had come from her exile to the surface, and how much of it had come from falling in love. 

He sat down against the base of the tree. “I am glad to see you again, Vierna,” he said quietly. “After that last time, those years ago, I--I wasn’t sure if—” He looked up at her. She was looking down at him studiously, her face flat. She was not as prone to emotion as other people--or at least, she didn’t show it. 

There was a soft rustling over leaves as the other woman wandered a few steps away, leaving them to speak alone. Drizzt grew more bold, with her not listening in. He thought of the last time they’d spoken, when she’d talked of the surface and its people with such hatred. 

“I’ve gone my whole life without being with...my own kind,” he said hesitantly, not particularly liking her chosen wording. “I know that pain. I wish it could have been otherwise. You don’t know how glad I am to have found you again.” 

She smiled. An actual friendly smile. A rare sight. 

“But do you understand now that we are the lucky ones?” he asked. “We made it out of there, out of those monster-ridden tunnels and that city that runs on blood and death. We are not burdened with being here on the surface--we are gifted with it.” 

She did not simply strike him for saying those things, like she might have years ago. But neither did she look like she agreed with him. She knelt in the dirt beside him. “You cannot speak of Menzoberranzan with any real knowledge,” she said, her tone almost approaching gentleness. “You were not there long enough to understand it. You never saw the parts of our culture that were beautiful.” 

Drizzt stared at the firelit camp, his throat suddenly tight. He had always suspected that this was the case. He had always longed for that knowledge that had been taken from him before he was old enough to gain it. He had always missed it, even if he didn’t know what it was he was missing. 

“Drizzt. You deserve a chance to learn of these things. You belong with your own people.” 

“I am with my own people,” he said, and gestured to the camp, in case there was any doubt of what he meant. 

A look of faint disgust darkened her eyes. “That will never be true, no matter how much you wish it to be. You just said so a moment ago.” 

He looked away from her, frowning. “What are you asking of me, Vierna?” 

“I am not asking it of you. I am giving it to you. I am offering you the opportunity to learn who you really are. To learn what you came from.” 

“From you?” 

“From me, and from others. There are others of our race here on the surface. Those who come here either by choice or by coercion.” 

Drizzt glanced at the drow woman sitting on a rock several yards away. “Like her?” 

Vierna looked at her for a long moment before speaking. Drizzt couldn’t read her emotions in her expression, which was probably because she was intentionally hiding them. 

She lowered her voice to a whisper. “When I first made my way to the surface, I did not think I would find others like us here. I assumed I would be alone. She is the first drow I met here, after you. We have become...very close.” She cocked an eyebrow at him, and gave an amiable shrug. “You were right. It is not entirely bad, being here. Some good things have come of it.” 

It was strange hearing her express affection for another person. In his memories of her, she had merely tolerated the people around her, but never cared for anyone. It was difficult to care for anyone, underground. Perhaps things were different among drow on the surface. They had to be. It was too difficult to survive alone in this place that was so alien to them. They had to find refuge in each other. 

“I can’t just leave my friends,” Drizzt said slowly. 

Vierna shook her head--impatient, as always, with his attachment to human society. “I would think you would leap at the chance to be with your real family,” she said. “But I suppose I cannot hope to compete with those who raised you and made you theirs, heathens though they might be.” She got to her feet and looked down at him, hand on her hip. “Don’t leave them, then. But you may still come and find me. We have made our home not far from that human city I met you in before. A few miles west, in the trees.” 

“So close?” Drizzt said, surprised. 

“Indeed.” 

She turned to leave, then paused, and turned back to give him an unreadable look. “I saw you fight.” 

“Oh?” He sat a little straighter, eager for her assessment. 

“You move like a pregnant cow.” 

“Oh…” 

She paused for a moment, and he realized, after she spoke, that it was because she was so reluctant to say anything positive about him. “But, I can see your potential. You could be much better. If you had someone to teach you. I suppose it’s my duty to do so, lacking the presence of a house weapons master.” 

He was speechless for a few seconds. “You would really…? ...I would like that, yes.” 

“Don’t get emotional, Drizzt. I can’t stand it.” 

“I would never.” 

She rolled her eyes. 

——— 

They reached Neverwinter the following evening. It was the grandest city Drizzt had ever seen, even just from the outside. He was dying to see what the inside looked like, and knew very well that he would not get to any time soon. 

Once the guards at the gate spotted him, they singled him out and refused him entry. He knew it was only because of the unalarmed humans around him that they didn’t attack him on sight. Catti-Brie immediately began to argue on his behalf. 

“It’s alright,” he said, resting a hand on her elbow. “I should be on my way back to Crosswell, in any case.” 

She didn’t look happy with his easy surrender. She thought it an injustice for them to refuse him entry, and she did not care to suffer injustices. It was one of the things Drizzt liked most about her--though, in this case, he guessed that she was more upset about the situation than he was. 

Aelgar got up from his seat to dig in the back of the wagon, which they’d stuffed full to twice its capacity with items from the wagon that had been burnt. “Your share,” Aelgar said grudgingly, and handed over his pay. He might have been an ass, but at least he was an ass who paid well. 

“Thank you,” Drizzt said shortly. He did not have anything else in particular to say to him in parting, and apparently neither did Aelgar. The gates to the city opened, and the caravan rolled lazily through them while the guards stared at Drizzt with naked mistrust. 

Catti-Brie stopped by his side before following them in. “Wait here for me,” she said. 

He blinked at her. “Here?” 

She nodded. “I’ll accompany you back, just as soon as I have everything with the caravan settled. Don’t leave without me.” 

“But won’t the caravan move on without you? You’ll have to find another job.” 

She was backing toward the gate, not wanting to be left behind. “Just _wait_ ,” she said again, smiling in a reassuring way. She waved to him over her shoulder as she trotted after the wagons. 

After the caravan had disappeared into the city and the gates had closed behind it, it grew very quiet again. The guards at the gate turned to Drizzt, glaring. He gave a thin smile, and moved away before they could tell him to do so. 

He found an outcropping of rock above the road, from which he could watch the traffic to and from the city without being seen. He settled in to wait.

Several hours passed. He’d laid back on the stone and closed his eyes. The sun was setting by then. He wondered when Catti-Brie would return. A small part of him worried that something had happened. Maybe she’d changed her mind about coming with him. 

He heard no footsteps, no rustling of leaves, no sound of anyone approaching. There was no warning at all. He only felt the sudden sharp cold of steel against his throat. 

His eyes snapped open. Artemis was looking down at him, eyebrows slightly raised. Drizzt was frozen. The sword resting against his skin didn’t move. 

“A bit foolish, lying around in the open like this,” Artemis said, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. 

Drizzt glanced toward the guards at the gate. They were within shouting distance, but not nearly close enough to intervene before he was dead and Artemis was long gone. And would they bother to help him anyway, once they realized who it was calling for help? 

He wondered if Vierna was still somewhere nearby. It was probably too much to hope for. 

But then the blade moved away from his throat. “Get up,” Artemis said. 

Drizzt stared at him. Very slowly he climbed to his feet, keeping as far away as he dared.

“Draw your sword,” Artemis said. 

“What is this?” Drizzt scoffed. “You escaped already. What else could you want with me? Why come back here?” 

“Do it or I’ll just kill you now,” he replied through his teeth. 

Drizzt paused for a long, uncomfortable moment, then drew his sword. He held it half-heartedly at his side. “I don’t want a fight with you. I’m sure we can—” 

Artemis’s sword flew out toward him. He reacted on instinct, bringing his own sword up to block before he could think about it. The sword struck again and again, and all Drizzt could do was try to keep up.

He was forced to take a step back with every blow. Soon he found himself backed against the edge of a precipice on the far side of the hill. Artemis grinned, knowing he would likely win the fight in the next few seconds. Drizzt chose that moment to summon a globe of darkness over him. 

All movement stopped as Artemis froze in place. Drizzt jumped down onto the steep hillside behind him. Gravel rolled beneath his feet and threatened to slide him all the way down the hill. He clawed at the dirt and stone, and nearly dropped his sword but managed to stop sliding. The wound in his leg sparked with pain suddenly, and he guessed that if he had bothered to look down, he would find it bleeding again. 

He climbed up and hid beneath an overhang of rock just beneath where they’d been standing, and readied his sword. If Artemis jumped down after him, he’d attack him from behind. He waited for several seconds, trying not to breathe despite his pounding heart and hungry lungs. 

A knife jabbed at him from above. Drizzt shouted wordlessly in surprise. The knife had missed by a foot, but was already realigning itself toward the sound of his voice and trying again. Drizzt dropped his sword, reached up with both hands, grabbed the arm that held the knife, and yanked hard. Artemis came tumbling over the ledge, and then they were both sliding down the cliffside in a shower of dirt and gravel. 

There were a disorienting few moments of spinning ground and sky. Sharp rocks jabbed at soft skin. Clouds of dust stuck in eyes and mouths. 

Everything slid to a stop at the bottom of the hill. 

They both raced to be the first to recover from the fall. Drizzt, lying on his back and aching in a hundred places, located his sword submerged in a nearby pile of loose rock. Artemis hauled himself to his feet and was already coming after him before he’d even finished standing. Drizzt rolled to his feet and stumbled to his sword, dug it out, and raised it between himself and Artemis. 

They paused to watch each other as they caught their breath. Artemis coughed. The fight had gone on longer than the last one had--and Drizzt dared to think that it was because he was making a better showing this time. He read the irritation in Artemis’s face, and knew that he had noticed it as well. 

When Artemis’s right foot darted forward to begin another attack, Drizzt threw a handful of dirt and gravel into Artemis’s face. Artemis gave an annoyed sound and another cough as Drizzt turned and ran into a patch of trees. On a sudden impulse, he ducked as he ran. As if on cue, a thrown knife went flying over his head. 

He turned to face Artemis only when he’d put a narrow tree between them. Whenever Artemis tried to circle around one side, Drizzt circled around the other, always keeping the trunk between them. 

“I had you pegged as a fool, but not a coward,” Artemis snapped. “All of this bullshit because you know you can’t fight me head-on.” 

“Upset you haven’t won yet?” Drizzt said, his voice somehow coming out cool despite his inner panic. 

Artemis feinted toward one side of the tree and then jabbed at the other. Drizzt stumbled, the wound in his leg slowing his movements. Artemis’s sword came within inches of his throat. He whirled backward, unbalanced, but the strange movement worked to his advantage. Artemis’s next attack went high, and Drizzt swiped up at his raised arm. 

Artemis gave a short, pained gasp as Drizzt’s sword bit into the unarmored flesh where his arm met his chest. 

Drizzt gaped. He was so surprised that he almost forgot to keep his sword up. For a fraction of a second, Artemis didn’t move, and Drizzt had the urge to apologize and go to his aid. When Artemis’s sword suddenly swung at him again, vicious and deadly as ever, he only barely deflected it in time. 

Artemis pressed in on his right side--the side that he must have by now noticed Drizzt favoring--and pushed him off-balance again. His sword swept around in a curve that Drizzt struggled to block, pushing his wrist painfully backward and sideways until the sword was forced from his hand. 

His blade fell to the ground, and he flinched as Artemis’s sword came at his neck. The blade stopped just short of touching him. 

Drizzt stared at Artemis as a cold lump of dread rose in the pit of his stomach and threatened to crawl up his throat. Up until then, he’d been caught up in the adrenaline of the fight, had almost even been enjoying it. But now the exhilaration was gone and only the fear was left. There was no worse feeling than having a weapon aimed at you while your own hands were empty, he decided. 

Artemis tilted his head at Drizzt, still panting hard. He seemed to be waiting for another trick. Drizzt had none left. 

“No flames this time?” Artemis asked. 

“It wouldn’t work a second time.” 

“No, it wouldn’t.” 

After a moment, Artemis lowered the sword, much to Drizzt’s continued confusion. He leaned back on his heels, idly spinning the knife in his off-hand. “Now will you still try to claim that you are my better, or are you ready to concede that point?” 

Drizzt frowned at him, disbelieving. He glanced at his sword on the ground a few feet away. 

“Be honest, now. I don’t want you just agreeing with me because you’re afraid I’ll kill you if you don’t. I wouldn’t want you really thinking you could ever best me in a fair fight. We could go again if you’re still unconvinced.” 

“It is not a fair fight,” Drizzt said slowly, “since, you’ll remember, my leg is still injured from the last time we fought.” 

Artemis blinked, then his face fell slightly. He looked down at Drizzt’s leg. He’d forgotten about the injury, it seemed. 

“You went to all the trouble of finding me just to prove to yourself that you’re better than me?” Drizzt said. 

“No.” He sheathed the sword, but continued spinning the dagger back and forth as he looked at him. “After that display of _generosity_ back on the road,” he said, fitting the word with a heavy veil of sarcasm, “I didn’t want you thinking I still owed you something. By my count, that’s twice just now that I could have killed you. We’re even.” 

Drizzt gave a bitter laugh. “You thought I spared your life because I wanted you to owe me?” 

Artemis scowled. “Why else would you do it?” 

Drizzt stared at him, shaking his head. Artemis really didn’t understand. He couldn’t fathom someone trying to help him without any ulterior motives. He watched as Artemis’s face slowly drifted from anger to irritated confusion to something approaching neutral as he realized the truth. 

Artemis snorted with disdain. “You’re even more a fool than I realized.” 

“You come back here and make me duel you just to reassure yourself that you can fight well enough, and _I’m_ the fool here?” Drizzt sat back, crossing his arms. “Why do you refuse to take the hands that are offered to you? Any one of us would have helped you, if you’d asked us.” 

“Who said I wanted anyone’s help?” 

“You _should_ want it. You could choose not to live the way you do. We could help you find a way out of the life you lead.” 

Artemis rolled his eyes. “I will pretend I didn’t hear everything you just said, because if I acknowledge aloud how condescending and self-righteous you are, I might just have to kill you purely out of principle.” 

Drizzt shifted his feet a little, giving Artemis a mistrustful look. “Are you really not going to kill me, then?” 

Artemis looked at him impassively for a long time, as if he was still considering it--or, more likely, he just wanted Drizzt to think he was still considering it. The knife turned in his hand. 

“No,” he said finally. 

“Then this was all a grand waste of time, wasn’t it?” Drizzt said, which made Artemis’s eyebrows arch slightly. “Why are you really here? What’s the point of all this? I’m beginning to think you just have some kind of preoccupation with me.” 

Artemis stopped spinning the knife. He paused, then looked him up and down, as if considering it for the first time. He did not look as offended by the idea as Drizzt had expected he would. 

“I suppose things _have_ been more interesting since you arrived,” he said thoughtfully. “That is worth something. These things can get awfully routine, otherwise.” 

“Glad I could be of service,” Drizzt said dryly. He was still looking for a way to separate himself from the man. He had hoped the guards at the gate would notice the skirmish and come to his aid, but his luck was not so good. He didn’t dare go for his sword again. He knew how fast Artemis was. “Don’t you have some business to attend to in the city?” 

Artemis gave a lean smile. “Why? Are you going to stop me?” 

“It’s not my concern,” he replied with a little more indifference than he really felt. “I don’t work for him anymore.” 

“Good.” His lips curled, just a little, betraying a quiet disgust with the merchant. “Between you and me, he deserves what’s coming to him. Even you would agree with me on that.” He finally sheathed the dagger at his hip. He turned and finally moved to leave, to Drizzt’s relief. 

“We will meet again,” he said in parting. “When your leg is healed and you can no longer use it to excuse your poor performance.” 

“That is hardly necessary. Let’s just be done with this now. You’re better than me. Alright? I said it.” 

Artemis looked back at him over his shoulder, with a look that suggested vague amusement that Drizzt thought he had any say in the matter. 

———

When he was sure Artemis was gone, he returned to the gate, stopping a good thirty yards away from it. He began to call a warning to the guards, and then a crossbow bolt hit the ground at his feet. This time Drizzt was significantly more frustrated by the rejection than before, but he grudgingly turned and left. 

Catti-Brie emerged from the front gates after the sky had gone completely dark. Drizzt knew it was her even from his distant lookout point. She walked with her hands tucked into her pockets, her cloak flaring behind her. She moved with purpose, but her stride was relaxed and confident. 

She cut a sharp figure that belied her kind nature. Drizzt had been watching her for some time before he realized he was staring. She’d only been gone for a few hours, and already he’d forgotten what kind of effect she had on him. The rest of the world disappeared when she arrived. 

The bright moon must have lit him well enough for her to see, because she looked up and smiled when she saw him. She stopped in front of him. 

Something felt different, suddenly. It hit him that they were alone, really alone, for the first time since they’d started traveling together. And now they were going to continue being alone together for, possibly, the next week or more. It was a thrilling prospect. 

But there were other matters to tend to, first.

“Artemis is here,” he said. Catti-Brie’s eyebrows jumped up. “Not _here_ ,” Drizzt quickly amended. “In the city by now, I assume. I had a...strange conversation with him. I tried to warn the guards, but they…” He waved toward them helplessly. “We should try to warn Aelgar.” 

Catti-Brie gave a short laugh. “Oh, he already knows. Got even more scared after you left. He was looking over his shoulder every other step. Their quarrel will end soon one way or another, I’m sure. I’m more worried about _us_. What did Artemis say to you? Will he find you again?” 

Drizzt tilted his head evasively. “I do not think he holds a grudge against me. In fact,” he added, voicing the realization as it was coming to him, “I think he may even have some positive feelings toward me.” 

Catti-Brie gave him a skeptical look. 

“In his own way,” Drizzt conceded with a shrug.

“I dread to think what form ‘positive feelings’ from Artemis Entreri might take.” She rested a hand on her hip, turning to look back at the grand gates in front of the city and the towering buildings beyond. “This was all good timing, I think. I’ve been getting the feeling lately that it might be time to move on. I don’t like working with people I don’t like, and it turns out that I don’t like Aelgar much. Best of luck to him with the Artemis situation. I still don’t know what that was all about.” 

Drizzt thought of what Artemis had said about Aelgar, and frowned. Drizzt believed what he said--even if Artemis himself had warned him against trusting him. He wondered what kinds of things someone would have to do for even Artemis to disapprove. 

“You’ll be glad to have me along with you on the journey back,” Catti-Brie said. “It’s dangerous to travel these roads alone, even if you have a magic-using sister watching over you.” 

“I see. Thank you, then.” 

“We’ll have been gone for a long while by the time we get back. Won’t your captain be angry?” 

Drizzt sighed. He’d been able to push that particular issue to the back of his mind, with everything else going on, but he hadn’t forgotten. Certainly Tuomas wouldn’t have been able to hide his absence for so long. 

“I’d wager I don’t have a job waiting for me when I get back. I may have to do some begging.” 

Catti-Brie laughed. “You could always come along with me, instead.” 

“I’m sure that wouldn’t at all hinder your ability to find a new employer, having a drow with you.” 

“Who cares if it does?” She carried a large pack, now that she didn’t have the wagons to put her things in. She adjusted the straps over her shoulders as she squinted out at the dark road. “We should find somewhere to camp. How’s your leg? Can you walk far on it?” 

“Slowly, I think. Are you really planning to come all the way back to Crosswell with me?” 

“I was.” 

He gave her a dubious look. 

Her face grew serious and just a little hurt. “Would you prefer to go alone?” 

He gave a small, nervous laugh. “It’s not that I would prefer it. It’s that I don’t understand why you would want to come. You have many better things to do.” 

She snorted derisively, looking at him with a little disappointment. “What do you mean, you ‘don’t understand’? I thought we were...” 

He hurriedly tried to formulate the correct words to explain himself better, but she read the words on his face before he could speak them. Her expression softened. 

“You don’t understand why I want to be with you?” she asked. 

He said nothing. It was true, but saying so aloud seemed far too pathetic. 

“Would you like me to explain?” she asked. 

“That’s not what I meant...” 

She gently took his hand. The simple touch immediately lowered his guard and calmed his nerves. Her hands were warm and dry, with calloused joints and soft palms. He tightened his fingers around hers. 

“You’re not the first person I’ve been with,” she said. “I’ve known other people. I’ve courted other people. Do you know how uncommon it is to find someone like you?” 

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her. “Like me?” 

“Someone trustworthy,” she said, speaking the word with reverence and gravitas. “I could tell that about you even when we first met. It’s a sort of vibration a person has--you can sense it on them. You’re an honest person. That is worth a lot.” 

“That’s a low bar to clear.” 

“It’s a rare quality in a person,” she corrected him. “So many other people—other men—are...” She frowned to herself, shaking her head. “...not like you,” she finished. “It hasn’t occurred to you how valuable it is, because you take it for granted. You never thought to be anything else but what you are.” 

He was quiet while he considered this. He didn’t fully follow her reasoning, but trusted her to speak the truth as she saw it. Even then, a small part of him didn’t quite believe her--like it would turn out that this had all been a very long practical joke at his expense. Ridiculous. 

“I would be glad to have you with me, whatever your reasons,” he clarified quietly. “But I...don’t want to take up your time.” 

He guessed, from the sudden disapproving look on her face, that she’d gleaned his meaning, even though he hadn’t been brave enough to say it directly. Elves and humans lived on different time scales. 

“Do you think I’m wasting my time here?” she asked, her voice weighted with accusation. 

“No. I didn’t mean that. I’m saying this all wrong.” 

“Then why don’t you let _me_ decide how I spend my time?” she said, with a very subtle stern edge. 

He gave a soft laugh. “I didn’t intend to do otherwise.” 

“Good.” The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Now that your ego has been sufficiently stroked, should we move on?” She pulled him along by the hand as she started down the road, and he gladly followed. 


	9. Chapter 9

“Marry rich, Drizzt,” Torrah said, exuding a surprising air of sage wisdom for a fifty-eight-year-old ex-nocturne-seller. He rested against the wall outside the house, having carried the last of his boxed up nocturne brewing equipment out to one of the wagons on the street. He’d found a buyer for it in Llangelier. 

Six months had passed since Drizzt had gone to Neverwinter with Catti-Brie. Torrah was moving out of his little house on the edge of town. He said he was only retiring because Cerys had asked him to, but Drizzt didn’t get the feeling that he was that upset about it. 

“That’s why you’re marrying Cerys?” Drizzt said. 

“Well don’t go saying that too loud, or you’ll ruin it.” 

Drizzt smirked. They both knew perfectly well that he would have proposed to her even if she were a vagabond without a penny to her name. They were completely enamored with each other, as they had been for years. 

“I think I would prefer to marry for love, if at all,” Drizzt said. 

“Do both.” 

“I _am_ courting a princess, you know.” 

Torrah shrugged. “Just because she has status doesn’t mean she has money.” 

“So you don’t think a beautiful princess is good enough for me? Should I be holding out for a better offer?” 

He smiled. “No. You can’t do better than Catti-Brie.” 

It was more deserved praise of Catti-Brie than an insult toward Drizzt. “Agreed.” 

Torrah’s things were all in boxes. All that remained was the furniture that would stay in the house after it was sold. Drizzt paused to peer inside at the near-empty interior of the house. It looked familiar and unfamiliar in a strange way, like seeing a friend in a dream. It had been his home for much of his early life. It had felt so much larger back then. Now the faint verdant smell of the place had gone, and the path in front was overgrown, and the bushes in the back garden were all dead. 

It was odd to think that someone else would be living there soon. 

“I thought it might bother you,” Torrah said. Drizzt looked over at him. He’d been watching Drizzt watch the house. 

“It feels like the end of something,” Drizzt admitted. 

“No. It’s a beginning.” 

“Aren’t you going to miss it?” 

“I’ve never been as sentimental as you are.” 

Drizzt gave him a skeptical look. 

“Just because I’m leaving it doesn’t mean I’m forgetting it,” Torrah said. “Do you really think I’d be able to forget our years--decades--here?” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“Isn’t it?” 

Drizzt sat down on the porch, thinking about those first few months and years on the surface. He hadn’t even spoken the common language. He’d been so helpless. Like a fish trying to swim on land. What a difficult situation he’d put Torrah in, showing up the way he had. 

“Do you remember when I ate those mushrooms I found in the garden?” Drizzt said. “They looked exactly like mushrooms we ate in Menzoberranzan.” 

“And then you cried and called me _wael iblith_ when I made you throw them back up.” 

Drizzt’s face heated. He did still remember that detail just as clearly as the vomiting, because he’d regretted it so much afterwards. 

“I was really a little bastard back then, wasn’t I?” Drizzt said. 

“All children are bastards.” 

“Especially drow children, maybe.” 

Torrah laughed. “Maybe. But you could hardly help that.” He sighed, and looked out at the road instead of at Drizzt. “I suppose it wasn’t the childhood you’d imagined for yourself.” 

“I suppose not,” Drizzt said uncertainly, because of course it wasn’t what he’d imagined, but it hadn’t been all bad, either. Torrah was frowning a little, thinking about something. “What do you mean?” Drizzt asked, wondering if he’d misunderstood his comment. 

Torrah looked up at him, looking uncharacteristically regretful. “I’m...not really the fatherly type,” he said. “I never set out to be one. But then you showed up and…” He shrugged. “I did the best I could.” 

Drizzt laughed. “You’re worried about that?” 

“All parents are worried about that. But mostly I was worried about whether you would do alright here. I don’t think anyone else has ever been in the situation we were in. I didn’t know if you would ever find a place for yourself, if you would even like it here… For a long time, I worried that you would want to go back to the Underdark when you got older.” 

Drizzt shook his head. “I have never regretted coming to the surface. I belong here. I have always felt that way, even if other people didn’t. And I wouldn’t be who I am if things had happened differently. If I could go back, I would change nothing. I certainly wouldn’t ask to replace you with someone else.” 

Torrah smiled faintly. He looked away, and nodded, reassured. “Thank you, Drizzt.” 

Drizzt thought, as he looked at him, that Torrah had changed even more than the house had. He seemed smaller now, just like the house did, even if he still towered over Drizzt. His hair was more grey than black, though it was more well-kept than it had been when it was all black, anyway. Drizzt guessed that was because he had a partner to impress, now. 

After another moment of quiet, Torrah got up and excused himself into the house. Their discussions on emotional topics were rare, and brief, and usually not acknowledged afterwards. 

Drizzt got up to carry another box to the wagon in front of the house. It wasn’t until he’d returned to the porch that he noticed their elderly neighbor frowning at them from her front step. He wondered how long she’d been standing there. 

“Hello, Ms. Eastwood,” Drizzt said flatly, giving a polite nod. 

She glared at him for a moment longer, then picked up her walking stick and slowly hobbled toward him. Drizzt had gone back inside and brought another box out by the time she’d reached their porch. 

“Mister Do’Urden,” she said, sharply despite her slow, crackling voice. “Those kids have been gathering in the alley again, drinking and singing and shouting nonsense at all hours. When is someone going to do something about it?” 

He began to sigh, then caught himself, and put on a patient smile instead. “The watch doesn’t really deal with those kinds of issues, Ms. Eastwood. Have you spoken to the council about it?” 

“Yes I’ve spoken to the council, those useless layabouts. And they keep telling me to talk to the watch about it. And the watch keeps telling me to talk to the council. So what am I to do? I can’t get any help, not from anyone. There’s no chivalry left in the world, these days. Things have changed here, you know. Forty, fifty years back, this was a nice town. People had manners.” 

Drizzt set down the box he’d been carrying, since Ms. Eastwood was blocking his path to the wagon and hadn’t moved yet. He rested his hands on his hips. “I’ll come by tonight and make sure everything’s quiet. If they’re out there again, I’ll speak to them about it. How does that sound?” 

She quieted for a moment, her lips still in a sullen pout. Drizzt guessed she was trying to think of some other reason to complain, and couldn’t find any. “I suppose that will do,” she said. 

Drizzt gave her another nod, and picked up the box. She slowly shuffled aside, and he carried the box past her to the wagon. When he returned, she was still standing there by the steps. 

“I’ve got something you’ll want to see,” she said cryptically. 

He stopped, wondering if he’d heard her correctly. “Pardon?” 

She gave a beckoning wave instead of answering, then started back toward her house, as if to lead him to something. Drizzt stared after her. She’d never gone out of her way to speak to him unless she had to. But her mind was slower and weaker than it used to be these days, and she was prone to occasional out of character moments. Wary, but not wanting to be rude, he followed. 

She leaned her stick against the wall outside her door, then went inside while Drizzt waited. She paused inside, looking around as if lost inside her own home. 

“Where did I put those darn…” She began muttering as she slowly--very slowly--cast around the house for something. 

Finally, she returned with a crate in her arms. As she came closer, Drizzt was surprised to hear the soft cries of something very small--something alive--from inside. She set the crate down on the porch in front of him. 

There were two black kittens inside the crate. 

“Oh, gods,” he gasped softly, falling to his knees in front of the crate. “They’re so cute!” He reached out, then paused and looked up at her. “May I?” 

She gave a short nod, sitting down in an old wooden chair by her door. 

He reached inside the crate and rested his hand in front of the cats. They watched it warily for a moment, then sniffed at him, then lost interest again, with the miniscule attention spans that all young creatures seemed to share. He reached up to stroke their ears. Their fur was so soft it was hardly there, like down. 

“ _Ah!_ ” he breathed, too happy for words. “I can’t believe how small they are!” 

Ms. Eastwood made a huffing sound, and Drizzt realized that she was laughing. He looked up at her, surprised. He’d never witnessed her do such a thing. 

She shook her head. “I’ve never seen a grown man so excited about a pair of cats.” 

“I like animals.” 

“Yes. Luna always liked you, too.” She looked away as she said it, bitter. Drizzt felt a pang of guilt. He dared to think that Ms. Eastwood’s old cat had liked him more than she’d liked her owner. She’d certainly spent more time at his house than hers. 

“Are they from Luna’s family?” Drizzt asked, nodding to the kittens. “Grandchildren?” 

“Hmm? Oh, I don’t know,” she said, waving a hand. “I got these two from the same woman who gave me little Luna, so I suppose they could be related.” 

Drizzt looked up at her, saddened. “I missed Luna when she stopped coming over.” 

Ms. Eastwood nodded slowly, leaning back in her chair. “She was a good cat.” 

She watched him play with the kittens, saying nothing. The cats stumbled around the crate on unsteady legs, alternating between chasing Drizzt’s fingers and chasing each other’s tails. 

The woman gave a heavy sigh. “It’s a shame. I don’t think I can afford to feed both of them, living on my retirement savings. I hope I can find a good home for the extra one...” She stared off into space sadly, and seemed to think she was being quite subtle. Drizzt’s eyebrows went up. 

“Well, Ms. Eastwood,” he said carefully, “if you approve, I would gladly take one of them off of your hands.” 

She studied him for a moment, as if considering it. As if she hadn’t brought him over for specifically this purpose. “Yes...I suppose that will do. Since Luna liked you so much. But you must take good care of her.” 

“Of course.” 

She pointed to the smaller of the two. “Take her, then. Thank you, Mister Do’Urden. Now you’ve done me two favors today.” 

Reverently, he picked up the cat under its front legs and held it out in front of him. It stared at him, wide-eyed. Drizzt grinned. He had the sudden urge to hug it to his chest, but resisted for the sake of maintaining some minimum level of composure. 

“You’ve grown into a decent young man,” Ms. Eastwood commented, nodding to herself. “You used to be such a troublemaker, when you were small.” 

He looked sideways at her. He was quite sure that he hadn’t been any worse than any of the other children in town. 

“I wasn’t,” he corrected her lightly. 

“Yes, there was something off about you,” she went on, as if she hadn’t heard him. “I’m glad you grew out of it.” 

“Glad you did, too,” Drizzt said, and again she only nodded blankly, like she hadn’t quite understood him. 

He looked down at the remaining cat, now alone in the crate, and felt a little regretful. “They’re siblings, aren’t they? I hate to separate them…” 

“Ah, they won’t really be separated. They’ll find each other again, if you let her roam sometimes.” She smiled up at Drizzt. He smiled back, still intrigued by her almost-friendliness. She must have been growing more lonely in her old age. Just like Luna had. 

He didn’t exactly know what to do with a cat. He’d figure it out, he supposed. He was far too delighted to be worried about it. He carefully dropped the cat into his pocket. It squirmed for a bit, then curled comfortably into a ball, resting its head on the lip of the fabric. 

“Thank you, Ms. Eastwood,” he said with as much heartfelt gratitude as he could muster. 

“You come back this evening and deal with those kids,” she said, her voice growing sharp again. “Don’t forget.” 

He’d waited until he’d turned away from her to shake his head to himself. “Yes, Ms. Eastwood.” 

———

Catti-Brie arrived later that day, a day earlier than she’d estimated. These days, she very carefully arranged her schedule, selecting jobs that would allow her to come back to Crosswell every few weeks. Drizzt was, frankly, flattered that she went to so much effort to return so often. 

This time, she seemed more excited to see the cat than she was to see him, which he could hardly blame her for. 

“Does she have a name?” she asked. 

“Guen.” 

She gently plucked the kitten from Drizzt’s hand and held her in her hands. Drizzt could see tiny claws digging into her skin, but Catti-Brie didn’t seem to mind. 

“You’re so lucky,” she said wistfully. “I always wanted a pet. The dwarves are only really interested in animals when it comes to eating them.” 

“You can visit her any time you like.” 

“Are you trying to bribe me to come see you more often?” 

“Yes.”

“Well, it might work at this rate.” 

Before night came, they set out into the woods west of town. 

Vierna’s little camp had grown over time. She and her companion, Jhalarra, now led a small but close-knit community of refugee drow--an idea which, a year ago, Drizzt would have dismissed as not just unlikely but impossible. 

They were up to seven now. Most of them were young. Most of them males. Their reasons for having ended up on the surface were varied but all revolved around either dissatisfaction with their station in the Underdark, or with a physical threat that had forced them to seek refuge above ground. He noticed that they were still mostly quite happy to let Vierna, who was both older and female, lead them. Perhaps it was more comfortable that way. 

Vierna spoke with disdain about living outdoors under trees-- _like faeries_ , she’d said--but Drizzt suspected that she had not only gotten used to her current way of life but actually enjoyed it. 

Tuomas, who had recently been promoted to watch captain, had nearly fainted when Drizzt had mentioned that there was a group of drow living so close to the city. Drizzt feared that had he not been present to serve as a liaison between the two groups, the proximity of the settlements would have eventually resulted in violence. As a member of the watch, his visits served a double purpose. 

Most of the drow kept nocturnal schedules. As he and Catti-Brie approached the camp, they were gathered around a cooking fire, preparing breakfast. 

“The pale one is back,” one of them said quietly. All of them looked up. 

They always had mixed feelings about her presence. Only about half of them were interested in interacting with humans whatsoever--but all of them were slowly being won over by her habit of bringing gifts with her. Drizzt hadn’t told her to do it, hadn’t even thought of it, but was glad she had. For most of them, Catti-Brie was the first human they’d met. Without her, their first encounters with humans would likely have been far less pleasant. 

Vierna nodded to him (but not to Catti-Brie) as they stopped at the edge of the firelight. 

“ _Vendui_ ,” Catti-Brie said to them. There was a smattering of snickers at her poor accent, which she paid no mind. 

“ _Vendui_ ,” Drizzt repeated, with a marginally better accent. 

“I brought some things,” she continued in the common tongue, even though only a few of them could understand any of it. She knelt and dug through her pack, carefully taking out items and setting them on the ground in front of her. The group watched her with veiled interest. 

One of the ones who’d been with the group the longest, Rilszar, picked up a jar she’d placed in front of them, removed the lid, and stared at its contents. 

“What is it?” asked one of the others, using the drow language. 

“Yellow slime,” Rilszar replied, sounding unimpressed. 

“It’s called _honey_ ,” Drizzt said. “It’s sweet. Kind of like the jam she brought last time.” 

There was a murmur of reluctant appreciation. If there was one thing that they all agreed upon, it was that the food on the surface was leagues better than anything available in the Underdark. 

Catti-Brie also produced two bottles of wine--made of grapes, not mushrooms—and a few packets of seeds for vegetable plants, which Drizzt had to explain. 

One of them gave an insulted huff. “Do we look like farmers to her? I was a member of the twelfth house back in Menzoberranzan.” 

“ _I_ was a farmer,” snapped Kiaran, the only female among them aside from Vierna and Jhalarra. “Anyway, who gives a shit about any of that now? We’re all the same, up here. None of us is too good to do what we have to do to survive.” 

“Correct,” Vierna said. “You can help me plant them, Kiaran.” 

After they had all spent several minutes examining the items and asking questions about them, Rilszar stood and held up a hand to Catti-Brie, indicating she should wait. He disappeared into a tent across the clearing and returned with a handful of arrows, which he held out to her. A gift. It was the first time any of them had offered her anything in return. 

“Oh. Thank you,” she said, taken aback. She took the arrows from his hand. She was probably thinking that she didn’t need them as much as he did. But she correctly surmised that it would have been insulting to reject the offer. 

Rilszar held up a hand again. He took one of her old arrows from her quiver, and held it up beside one of the ones he’d given her. His arrows had obsidian heads that were not rhombus-shaped, like Catti-Brie’s, but had barbs that thrust backward on either edge. They were designed to prevent them from being cleanly removed from their target once embedded in flesh. He pointed to the barbs, then mimed stabbing himself with the arrow and struggling to pull it back out. He handed the arrow back to her, giving her a knowing nod and smile. 

Catti-Brie gave a tiny sigh. “Yes. Wonderful.” It undoubtedly hadn’t occurred to him that she had chosen the less cruel variety intentionally. 

At Rilszar’s invitation, Catti-Brie went for an impromptu shooting contest, using a tree in the distance as a target--though Drizzt suspected he was just watching her to learn from her more than really competing. Archery, the way it existed in the wide expanses of the surface, was an unfamiliar art for most folk from the cramped tunnels of the Underdark. 

The rest of the group quickly became occupied with opening the wine and playing with Guen. Drizzt watched them until he sensed a presence at his side. Vierna was there, looking down at him. 

“Come,” she said. She was carrying one sword on her belt, and two more under her arm. She turned without waiting for a response, and retreated into the woods. Drizzt eagerly followed. 

She walked ahead of him, ducking under low branches and around ferns. It wasn’t until they’d been walking for several minutes that he spotted her hand resting at her side. Her fingers were moving in quick, sharp motions. She gave no other indication that she was trying to communicate with him. Drizzt watched her fingers closely. Perhaps she’d been signing some other phrase before, but by then she was angrily signing, _open your eyes, fool,_ over and over. 

It was part of his training in the language of finger code. Keeping aware enough to catch the subtle signs when they were offered was as much a part of the language as the signs themselves. 

“They’re open,” he said quickly. 

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, disapproving. “Not enough so, apparently.” 

He shrugged. He was happy enough with his progress both in this and in his swordplay, despite her frequent comments about what a slow study he was. 

She came to a stop once they’d reached an open clearing in the woods. She paused and looked up at the clear evening sky, dotted with stars. There was appreciation in her gaze. Drizzt wondered how often she came here on her own. Clearly it was a place she liked, if she had recalled its location and taken the time to bring him all the way there. 

Finally, she turned to him. “The surface has its charms,” she said. 

“It does.” 

She handed him two of the swords--because he always used two now, even if Catti-Brie still found it ridiculous. But instead of raising her own sword, she paused, looking thoughtful. 

“We were meant to be here. On the surface,” she said, idly turning her the sword over in her hand. “Not just you and I. All of us. Our people lived here for millennia before our cousins drove us underground. Did you know that?” 

Drizzt raised his eyebrows at her. 

“We never should have let it be taken from us,” she said, and looked away. “Maybe we were fooling ourselves, convincing each other that we were content in the Underdark. We distracted ourselves with petty house rivalries and wars that gained us nothing of consequence, when we should have instead been warring for our rightful place on the surface, for our piece of this wide world the gods gave us. We should have been fighting for something that mattered.” 

She turned to him, her expression flat. “Life below ground was an unending cycle of meaningless squabbles. What was the point of it all?” 

“For chaos?” Drizzt guessed dryly. “For the glory of Lolth?” 

She made a scornful sound, with the kind of anger and bitterness only the betrayed faithful had. “What did Lolth ever do for us?” 

“You followed her because she granted you power.” 

“Yes. We were her slaves, stupidly praising her over every meager crumb she offered us. She has fooled everyone into believing they have no other choice--that she is the only true source of power. But there are many paths to power. The real truth is that we do not need Lolth. She needs us. She is the weak link among drow. She is the one holding us back.” 

A small, superstitious part of Drizzt stiffened, wondering if the lady of chaos might be listening in from someplace beyond the mortal realm. 

“I still regret that I cannot liberate the rest of our brothers and sisters along with us,” Vierna said. “I do not think our people will ever be as great as they once were. Even our grandest cities will never be free of the taint left by her footsteps.” 

Her voice was soft and melancholy. It wasn’t often that Drizzt saw her express sadness. It was a weak emotion. She did not like to appear weak. 

“You can’t do it for them,” Drizzt said quietly. “They will have to free themselves. But you will be waiting here to help them after they do.” 

She nodded absently. “That will have to be enough.” 

There was a quiet, contemplative moment, and then Vierna scowled. “Are you _really_ going to stay with that human?” 

“Yes, Vierna,” Drizzt sighed. He could already see where this was going--again. 

“Drizzt, if we are going to make a place for ourselves on the surface, we must grow our numbers, and that means someone will have to start having children. It would be a shameful thing to waste Do’Urden blood on half-breeds. Perhaps you should try speaking to Kiaran. You would be a good match. She is clever and strong, despite being of low birth. You would have powerful children.” 

“Have you asked Kiaran _her_ thoughts on that idea?” 

“Of course. She is amenable.” 

He nearly dropped his swords. He hadn’t expected that. 

“Well--what about you?” he sputtered. “Are you going to do your part and start having children soon? Which of those males will you choose as a patron?” 

Vierna made a disgusted sound. “I already raised one damned baby and it wasn’t even mine.” She shook her head, as if to clear her mind of the idea. Usually they had an unstated agreement not to bring up such matters, because they each knew how the other felt about it. 

“Let’s fight,” she said impatiently. “Keep your movements tighter this time.” 

———

The fire was dying down when Drizzt returned. Most of the drow had left to do whatever it was they did during the night. Vierna had departed to meet with Jhalarra. Catti-Brie was sitting next to the fire, chin in her hand, her eyelids drooping. Guen was in her lap, napping. 

“I’m sorry,” Drizzt said, and Catti-Brie looked up. “I didn’t realize I’d been gone so long. You must be exhausted.” He offered her a hand. She took it, and climbed to her feet. 

“You know I don’t mind.” 

He didn’t quite believe that. “Still, thank you for coming with me. It means more to me than you know.” 

She tilted her head at him. “Does it?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

Guen wriggled in Catti-Brie’s light grasp. She handed her over to Drizzt, who placed the cat back in his pocket. 

“I don’t know,” Drizzt said hesitantly. “I don’t get to share these things with many people. My heritage is something people overlook, not something they want to know more about. I’m grateful you’re willing to give it a chance.” 

A bemused, sad smile graced Catti-Brie’s lips. She glanced over her shoulder, then quickly took his hands and squeezed them. “I _like_ coming here. It’s not a chore.” 

“I’m sure.” 

She gave him a light push in the chest, offended. “Do ye think I’d come if I didn’t want to? And why wouldn’t I want to? How many people can say they’ve spent time among a colony of drow refugees?” 

Drizzt almost laughed. It was just another adventure to her. Another story to tell when she was old. He hadn’t thought of it that way. 

“Anyway, that Rilszar is quite entertaining. He has a good sense of humor, you know. I think he was making a joke about Dhunryl’s bed head earlier, though it was a little hard to understand nonverbally.” 

“Oh?” Drizzt said, his voice a little tight. Rilszar had a sort of natural confidence and charm that Drizzt guessed served him well among women. He wondered if Catti-Brie had noticed. 

She gave a thoughtful look. “He’s quite handsome, too, don’t you think?” 

“Now you’re just teasing me.” 

“That’s right,” she said with a cruel smile. 

He took a step closer to her. “Is there something you’re trying to bait me into?” he asked. She grinned. He paused there for a moment to look at her appreciatively. He never got tired of looking at her. He was fairly sure he could do it all day and never tire of it. 

He leaned in to kiss her. She spoke a moment before his lips reached hers. 

“I received a letter last night,” she said. 

He pulled back to look at her. Her smile was gone, suddenly. “A letter?” 

“A courier came yesterday. Said she’d been looking for me for weeks, the poor girl. It was...from me dad.” 

Drizzt raised his eyebrows, questioning. He was always a little afraid that she would eventually decide to return to the clan for good. Her father frequently encouraged her to do so, though he always seemed to accept Catti-Brie’s choices with grace, whatever they were. 

Drizzt had never made the assumption that what they had would last forever, but the more time he spent with her, the more he hoped it would. 

“He wants me to come back,” she said. There was a solemness in her voice that said, unspoken, that this time was different. She was leaving. Not the way she left on jobs, with the assurance that she’d return in a week or two or three. Really leaving. 

He took a step back, still watching her. He said nothing. 

“Don’t look so upset about it,” she pleaded. 

“Are you going to go?” he asked, trying to sound indifferent, which he doubted was fooling anyone. 

She paused, then nodded. 

It hit him even harder than he’d expected it would. If he’d had some warning, maybe it would have been easier--but coming so suddenly like this, the news instantly settled like a stone in his stomach, painful and heavy. He tried to imagine going on with his life without her. He hadn’t planned on that. 

He sat down on a fallen log beside the fire. 

“Me dad--He’s after this place called Mithral Hall,” Catti-Brie went on. “Have you heard of it?” 

Drizzt shook his head. 

She gave a tiny, tired roll of her eyes. “It’s a long story. It’s an ancient dwarven stronghold, supposedly, hidden away and lost for ages. Probably doesn’t actually exist, if we’re all being honest, but he’s been wanting to try to get to it all his life and he says he can’t put it off any longer and...“ She shook her head. “None of that matters. The point is, I’m going with him, and it’ll be a very long journey there and back, with lots of possibility for danger along the way, and…” 

“It’s alright. I understand,” Drizzt said dully, not wanting to have to hear her officially end things. 

She fidgeted with her hands. “The thing is--I hoped that you might want to come along with me.” 

He looked up at her, frowning. “What?” 

“I know it’s too much to ask. It will be a few months’ trek, at least, and I don’t know exactly where we’re going, and you have your work and your family and friends here in Crosswell. It’s not so easy to just leave all that, not when you don’t know when you’ll be coming back--believe me, I know. But I’ve been away from my family for a long time. It’s time for me to go back.” She turned to him, her expression solemn. “But I know I wouldn’t be completely happy there if you weren’t with me.” 

It was the third time since he’d met her that she’d asked him to go on an adventure with her. But this time, she was nervous when she asked. Because she was afraid he’d say no. 

“You want to bring me?” Drizzt asked, laughing a little. “To your clan?” 

“You don’t have to answer yet. I’ve got one more job here before I leave for the dale. If you—” 

“I want to go.” 

She raised her eyebrows. There was a pause before she asked, “Are you sure?” 

“Of course I’m sure.” She looked so surprised that Drizzt began to second guess himself. “Was I...not supposed to say that?” 

She laughed, pulled him to his feet, and wrapped her arms around him. “Of course you were supposed to. I just--I didn’t think--” She trailed off, and hugged him tighter. Drizzt smiled into her hair, and hugged her back. 

“What will your clan have to say about this? We’ve met before, if you remember. It didn’t go well.” 

“Come on, Drizzt. You’re not going to let some grumpy old dwarves scare you off, are you?” 

“No, I’m not.” 

“Good. I’m telling you, they’re all bark and no bite. And I know they’ll love you, once they get to know you. Oh! You’ll get to meet all our friends from Icewind Dale! I can’t wait. This is going to be amazing.”

He thought of the near future, and of the future beyond--a future with her. 

“Yes,” he said. “It is.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to everyone who kudos’d/commented/etc. Your support means a lot. Thank you for reading. ♥


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